Someone to Turn to
by JustDreamingOutLoud
Summary: Warning:Slash. Sometimes, even the smallest of events can trigger something bigger; thoughts and feelings can be easily misconstrued; and you discover friends where you never expected to find them. B/B.
1. Someone to Turn to

_Someone to Turn to._

_Bob/Bart_

_Summery: Slash. Sometimes, even the smallest of events can trigger something bigger; thoughts and feelings can be easily misconstrued; and you discover friends where you never expected to find them. B/B._

_The characters and the world of 'The Simpsons' belong not to me. I am but a poor slacker who enjoys to write and collects various cats. Also, I cannot vouch for this story's accuracy to the series (including ages). My bad. Please enjoy my (most likely, mistake-riddled) story._

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><p><em>"When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all." -'God' from 'Futurama'.<em>

"Hey, Bart!"

Milhouse jogged over to his friend and offered a brief wave and a smile of greeting. School had just finished for the day and Bart Simpson was examining yet another failed test in the emptying car park.

"We'll have to reschedule our study night, I'm being taken out for dinner."

Bart frowned and finally looked up from the big red 'F' on his papers, pushing himself off from his leaning position against Milhouse's car. "Yeah, again?" he asked, obviously irked. "You cancelled last week, too, and look what happened!" he shoved the piece of paper at the other boy.

Milhouse didn't even look at it; he knew what was on it. Sighing up at the taller boy, Milhouse shook his head. "You could've studied without me, on your own…I did and I still passed."

"Well doesn't that make you a fucking smart arse then." Bart snapped, his grades putting him in a foul mood, before retracting his hand and marching off towards the exit of the car park, his bare arms feeling the bite of the cold weather. He didn't spare his only friend a glance as he waved sharply over his shoulder. "See ya _later_!"

Shaking his head some more, Milhouse got into his car and slid his key into the ignition. "Yeah, see ya, Bart," he mumbled softly but not unkindly, even though he knew that Bart couldn't hear him.

Considering he'd given up his ride home with Milhouse, Bart was forced to walk home as the bus had already left. It was cold outside and he now wished he'd brought a jacket or something with him. But then again, he hadn't known that Milhouse would ditch him again for his _boyfriend_. He didn't blame his bad grades on his friend; Bart just didn't seem to be able to concentrate on his homework properly unless there was someone else there helping and encouraging him, (his family certainly didn't jump to help him these days). But he _was_ getting rather tired of being dumped so Millhouse could hang out with people the blue-headed boy seemed to deem more important. Including his illusive boyfriend that Bart had yet to even set eyes upon.

Bart scratched the back of his head irritably, still frustrated, but keen to walk it off.

In the shadows lurked a tall, lean figure, a little black notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. His seemingly unruly, red, curly hair was tucked neatly under a simple black hat, making him just that little bit more unrecognisable…the trench coat helped too.

Sideshow Bob, aka: Bob, scowled as he watched Bart Simpson walk home, scratching down a few words in his little book. He'd been stalking- no, _watching_ Bart for a month now and still he'd not found a way to kill the boy! All he did was go to school, come home, watch TV, eat, sleep, then start all over again! There was nothing Bob could use to his advantage, nothing he could twist or provoke to make an opportunity appear for the ex-clown so he could murder the boy once and for all, and it irked him to no end. So he kept on watching, kept on waiting.

The boy was home now, and armed with a pair of binoculars and a perch in a leafy tree, Bob watched the boy enter, be practically ignored by his mother as she tended to the youngest of her spawns, and then climb the stairs to his room. His middle sister walked straight past his open doorway without even looking in, which Bart obviously noticed, before he slumped onto his bed and closed his eyes wearily.

Bob frowned, the family never used to be like that…had something changed so drastically whilst he was in prison?

Who knew, and really, who cared? He looked at the boy again to see him staring blankly at a wall. Apparently no one did…

The rest of the day was pretty much the same. The boy stared at the ceiling of his room, then attempted some homework only to sigh in frustration and throw it across his room and go back to the staring. It was late at night, when everyone in the Simpson household was fast asleep, that Bart sneaked out of his window in a black, hooded jumper and made off down the street. Bob followed at a distance.

As Bart walked, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it up with a cheap Kwik-E-Mart lighter and puffed on it. Bob made notes in his little book: 'Bart smokes. Under-age too. I wonder where he gets them from then' before watching him approach a bunch of shifty-looking teenagers/young men in the shadows. They were all smoking too and standing around in a dark circle. Bob didn't like the look of it; it was obvious that they represented trouble.

"Bart. Good timing, we need you to deliver something for us." one of the taller boys from the circle said as he faced the blond-haired, blue-eyed, seventeen-year-old boy. The rest of the conversation, though, was spoken too quietly for Bob to hear. But he got the gist of it, and that was that Bart was involved in some dangerous stuff…

"But that's on the other side of town!" Bart huffed, crossing his arms and refusing to take the tightly wrapped package. "You know I don't got a car or nuthin'. How am I supposed to get there?"

"That's _your_ problem," the taller boy sneered before shoving the package into Bart's chest until the boy took it. "It better be delivered tonight and in the same condition I gave it to you in. Oh and you know the rules, don't open it."

He waved Bart off harshly before turning his back on him and facing his … 'friends'?

After hesitating for a moment, Bart scrunched his face up and left the group in a hurry, hugging the package close to his chest as if it were made of fragile glass.

Bob frowned once again as his eyes watched the boy scurrying off down the street, face down. He was delivering something? Most likely cash, drugs or stolen goods by the look of it… But, why? It was confusing, but that just made it all the more intriguing. He followed Bart in his car slowly for the better part of the night and watched the boy's fear-filled eyes. It was boring, and Bob was getting tired of watching the brat. When oh when will he find a way to kill him? He felt like tearing his hair out it was so frustrating!

Three guys suddenly swaggered out of an alley, instantly filling the air with the stench of alcohol and the sound of drunken chuckles. Bart stopped dead and was apparently frozen to the spot as he watched the men begin to cross the street. But one of the men unfortunately noticed young Bart and stopped.

"Heey! Lookie what we got here, guys!" he grinned.

Now this was interesting. Bob turned off his already almost silent engine and watched from a distance. Well, this might prove fruitful…

"What?" snapped one of the other men, who, after almost tripping over, stopped and looked at Bart. "Oh, a pretty little girl, aaall alone out here _so_ late." he slurred, changing his direction towards the 'little girl'.

"I-I'm not a girl." Bart said as calmly as he could as he backed up a few steps. "I'm a boy, and I'm just passing through."

The third man, who seemed a lot less intoxicated than the others, smirked a little, whilst the two others just continued to advance on Bart. "Just passing through?" he said, looking almost offended. "And here I was thinking you'd come to play."

"Wait…you're not a girl?" the stringy brunette sounded confused, his weak eyes passing over Bart's body and face curiously. "You sure look like one. Probably just wish you were one then, aye?" he said stupidly with another grin.

"No…" Bart trailed off. His face, whereas it had been stony, was now an open book, showing just how scared he was at that moment. "Leave me alone."

He turned and started walking away briskly, but the men just laughed and ran after him, grabbing him from behind to stop him from running.

"Aw c'mon now," the drunkest of the three was the closest, filling Bart's nose and mouth with the stench of stale, cheap alcohol and _sleaze._ "I think we should all go back to my place and have a little party." he winked and laughed hysterically, the second drunkest joining in.

The sober one, or at least the one who was the least drunk, kept a firm hold on the boy. His eyes not only travelled over Bart's frame but also over the package. "Hey, what's this, kid?" he reached for it, only for Bart to cry out and turn away from him, hugging it even tighter.

"It's mine!"

But this just seemed to make the man even more curious and determined. He yanked the boy around and tried snatching the bundle, but Bart put up a fight. Soon, though, the two drunken men held his arms and the sober one was able to grab the package before giving Bart a harsh and echoing slap across the face. "Little shit…" he cursed, scowling, before he began opening his prize.

"NO! Don't!" Bart cried, struggling against the men, but even though they were drunk they were able to hold him back with their combined strength, all the while groping him sloppily with laughs of amusement. He yelled hopelessly, "Don't fucking touch me! Give that back!"

"Oh fuck…" the man murmured. He'd had got the package open and was staring at the contents.

"What is it?" the brunette asked, trying to lean over and see.

The sober man rolled the package up best he could and shoved it into the large inside pocket of his jacket before grinning at his comrades. "It's our lucky day! I'll show you what it is and we'll split it up when we get back." he leaned down so his face was level with Bart's and smirked evilly. "We really owe you, kid, for that. We'll pay you back when we all get back home."

Bart suddenly began struggling again full force as it sunk in what these men planned to do with him. He was terrified, but not so much that he couldn't spit straight into the sober man's face. It landed on target and Bart spared a triumphant smirk amongst his fear.

"You fucking brat!" the man yelled, quickly wiping it off with his sleeve before backhanding Bart again. Even harder this time. "You're in for it now! Fuck!"

The two drunken slobs couldn't help but try and smother their laughter, but failed, and burst out laughing at their friend.

"Shut it!" growled Spit-Face before grabbing Bart's collar and dragging him along as they set off down the street, the black-haired man petting Bart inappropriately all the way.

Bob was indecisive. On one hand he could let these thugs do his dirty work for him and torture Bart before most likely killing him, or he could _save_ Bart so he could kill him himself. But, it certainly occurred to Bob that he'd never intended to torture Bart, merely kill him…and he was _not_ a rapist, just the thought sickened him. Well, there was his answer he supposed…he'd have to stop those intoxicated, horny filths. Bart was _his_ to kill anyway.

So, moving out from behind the dumpster which he'd been hiding behind so he could better hear what was being said, Bob stepped out in front of the men. "Excuse me, but I believe _that_," he said as he looked pointedly at a very surprised Bart, "isn't yours."

"Who tha fuck are you?" asked the brunette, his ugly face screwed up against the brightness of the street light in which the tall Bob stood in the glow of.

"Someone you, my _good _man, don't want to mess with." Bob lowered his voice dangerously and pulled a sharp-looking knife out from almost nowhere. "Now hand the boy over.

Bart didn't quite know which was worse. Going with these evil, drunk men or going with Sideshow Bob? Well, Bob just wanted to kill him, and he'd probably make it quick whilst these three men had very horrible plans in mind, Bart knew. Seeing his only hope of getting out of this mess (and into another, mind you) Bart suddenly bit down on the brunette's hand and wrenched himself out of the sober man's grasp before running to Bob. It had also occurred to Bart that Bob was never really very successful in his attempts to kill him. Maybe he'd get the chance to live after all.

"OW!" the brunette yelled, jumping up and down on the spot and cradling his bitten hand. "That fucking HURT!" he cried pitifully.

The black-haired man made an attempt to go after the boy, but Bob held his knife up and took a step forward, ignoring the petrified boy clinging to his side, and effectively making all three men cringe back into the shadows.

"Why don't you three just turn around and go home," Bob said firmly whilst his whole body tingled from having the boy so close. He could almost hear his screams now…

Still drunk and determined, the three men didn't obey Bob but instead took steps towards him slowly, cautiously. "He's ours! We found him! Finders keepers!" they protested.

Seeing that they wouldn't back down, Bob slowly started backing up, gripping Bart around the shoulders with one arm and pulling him back with him.

"I've been to jail more times than you three have probably ever changed your underwear combined; I wouldn't come any closer if I were you," Bob said as he glanced at their filthy clothes.

But they didn't stop; merely began to advance on the two faster as if they'd gained courage from somewhere. "Give him back, you prick, or else!"

Bob and Bart rounded a corner and bumped abruptly into something solid. Bob's car.

"Get in, Bart!" Bob hissed, yanking open the drivers' side door of his car and shoving the boy inside and over onto the passenger side seat before clambering in himself and slamming the door shut. He locked the door and briefly watched the men try to open it before starting the engine and immediately slamming his foot on the accelerator and speeding off. Fast.

Unable to speak just yet, Bart just breathed heavily and slowly blinked the unshod liquid from his eyes, his hands gripping the seat under him tightly. After about three minutes, he spared a glance at Bob to see the man staring intently at the road in front of him.

"…S-…Sideshow…Bob?"

"What?" Bob asked gruffly, his gaze never wavering from the road ahead.

"…Why are you…why did you…save me?" Bart finally managed to get out, his eyes still wide and his body still tense. He swallowed dryly and with slight difficulty as he waited for a reply.

The ex-clown seemed to hesitate, and for good reason too. "Unimportant. So tell me, Bart, what were you doing out so late at night and in such a shifty part of town?"

The boy grudgingly let Bob go with not answering his question when faced with a difficult one of his own. But, being Bart, he apparently decided to give Bob a taste of his own medicine. "That's unimportant." he said levelly.

Gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, Bob cursed the obtuse little brat in his head. "I see. Well, haven't you even got a 'thank you' for your rescuer? Or is it you think you '_didn't need my help_'?" he almost spat the words out.

But Bart shook his head. "No, thank you, I thought I was a goner…" the young Simpson said, if not reluctantly. The confession of previous fear and of gratitude towards Bob shocked the man. It wasn't every day that Bob heard such things from the boy. Bart really seemed to have changed…not that it mattered to Bob besides maybe offering an opportunity to him. Then an idea so splendid, so evil, so sly hit Bob that he almost cracked a malicious grin right then and there! Befriend the boy…make him trust him. It wouldn't be hard considering Bart seemingly had no friends and his family paid him no mind at all. The boy was in desperate need of a good friend- of just _someone_. Then, killing him would be all too simple.

"Are you okay, Bart?" Bob asked, concern just dripping from his softened voice. "Those men didn't manage to hurt you before I could get you away did they?"

Bart immediately frowned at the redhead. "I don't think so…my face is sore from where that drunk bitch-slapped me, but that's all."

"Ah, yes." Bob murmured and glanced at Bart briefly as he drove, furrowing his eyebrows together in apparent worry. "That might bruise, but it'll certainly heal well enough in time."

"Why do you care?" Bart suddenly snapped, his frown full blown now. "Why did you save me? You've only ever wanted me dead! What's the deal?"

His eyes back on the road now, Bob was quick to reply this time. "There's no _deal_, Bart, I assure you. I'm merely a new man. I've realised the error of my ways in the past and want to fix them.

"Trying to kill a little boy over and over again hasn't been exactly the highlight of my life…" he said the first thing that popped into his head.

But the Simpson just snorted in amusement. "A new man? Yeah right." he raised a singular blond eyebrow at the tall redhead. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that?"

"I suppose not," Bob sighed as he pulled his car up to a stop. "But nevertheless I have changed and am forever sorry about my behavior from before, though I am aware that an apology will hardly make up for it. If you ever need anything, Bart, here's my number."

Bart picked up the little piece of paper that'd been flicked onto his lap and looked at the black numbers written there. That's when he looked out the window to see his house, just as he left it, right beside them. He looked back at Bob in something akin to _almost_ awe. But then something in his memory screeched to a halt in the forefront of his mind. "The package…that guy took it…"

Sideshow Bob tilted his head a little and although he knew a little about the package, Bart didn't know that he knew. So he still asked: "Package? What package?"

Biting his lip as he glanced at Bob, Bart seemed to decided whether he should explain the man or not. But he eventually just shook his head, "Nothing. Uh, see ya, Sideshow Bob."

"Please, Bob, will do just fine."

"Oookay, see ya, _Bob_." Bart quickly opened the door and scooted outside before throwing it shut behind him as he ran to his front door, immensely surprised that Bob hadn't held him back at the last minute and knifed him. Or something.

Smiling to himself, Bob put his car into drive and left the Simpson household quietly. His new plan was working already. He pulled out his notebook and jotted down a few things as he drove. Now it was just a waiting game.

That night, Bart had his usual nightmares. Except they were worse than ever and left him tossing and turning, murmuring and whimpering; and although they didn't let up until morning, no one came in to comfort him.

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><p><em>Don't be too hard on me - I'm not exactly expecting to win a medal for this or anything. But you know how it is when you need to get something out of your head. -JDOL<em>


	2. Obstacles

Obstacles.

_Thank you for the reviews. They gave me a happy._

_I'm not even sure if this chapter will makes much sense to anyone besides myself,_ _but I'm putting it up now regardless. I'll edit if someone informs me of its nonsense. _:)

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><p>"<em>If you can find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn't lead anywhere." -Frank A. Clark.<em>

When he awoke to the beeping of his alarm clock, Bart thanked God that it was finally Friday. The last school day for the week and the beginning of the long sought-after weekend. School made Bart feel stupid- or at least the teachers did. As it were, the teachers at Springfield high were a lot more harsh, strict, and inpatient than at elementary- and that's saying something. After his third near-expulsion, most seemed to kind of 'give up' on Bart.

A light knocking at the Simpson's front door echoed throughout the modest house. The entire household were all in the kitchen, most eating breakfast whilst Marge happily prepared lunches.

Bart looked up from his cereal to see who was going to answer the door; but Marge was absorbed in her sandwich cutting, Homer was enthralled with the newspaper funnies, and Lisa was apparently conversing with Maggie about…whatever it is those two talked about.

Seeing as no one else appeared to have even heard the knocking, Bart sighed and pushed himself away from the table. "I'll get it, don't all jump up at once," he murmured under his breath; still half-asleep and a little grumpy.

Leaving his family behind, Bart walked out of the kitchen and opened the front door just as another set of knocks began, revealing his oldest friend with his fist in the air. Millhouse looked a little surprised, but smiled nonetheless and pulled his hand back to his side.

"Hey, Bart. Do you want a lift to school?" he asked. Millhouse's face held some tentativeness, and Bart understood why. They hadn't talked since Millhouse ditched him the other day. It wasn't because Bart was burned by it; no, he hardly even cared about that any more. But Bart had just been too confused and shaken up after his encounter with the thugs and then Bob a day ago to answer Millhouse's texts. He'd even skipped a day of school- even though that wasn't exactly unusual, and spent it by himself.

With a casual shrug, Bart nodded. "Sure. You want some breakfast?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

"Actually, I do, but how about we get some on our way?" Millhouse suggested, looking happy that Bart wasn't mad with him. "My treat."

"Yeah, okay, if you're offering." said Bart with a small smile, and after telling Millhouse to wait a minute, jogged up the stairs to grab his bag.

The spectacled-boy waited patiently for his friend, and as soon as Bart came down and shut the door behind him, he spoke up, "Bart, I'm sorry for the other day, really," Millhouse said earnestly, his eyebrows furrowed.

But Bart just waved the boy off as he slid into Millhouse's old and faded silver car. "Don't worry about it," he yawned, pulling the door harshly closed behind him. "You of all people should know that I wouldn't care about it the next day."

Millhouse nodded beside Bart, already turning the key in the ignition. "I know, but I haven't seen or talked to you since then, so I thought you might actually be really mad with me," he said, glancing at Bart with a concerned expression. "Why didn't you return any of my texts? And why weren't you at school yesterday?"

Rolling his eyes, Bart reached into his school bag and pulled out a cigarette. "You sound like my mother." Even as the words left his mouth he thought that it wasn't true. His mother hardly ever lectured him any more, or asked where he's been. He shrugged stiffly; "I don't need to explain myself to you, I just felt like cutting school."

Scrunching his face up at the foul smoke that emitted from Bart's cigarette, Millhouse coughed. "Do you have to smoke that in here?" he complained, rolling down his window before reaching across to roll down Bart's as well. "Well what about my texts?"

"I didn't want to talk," Bart said with an irritated frown as he looked out the window and allowed the morning chill to numb his face a little. "And I still don't. Can we just go? I'm starving."

With a silent sigh, Millhouse nodded and put the car into drive and released the break. He was used to not getting anything from Bart like that. The blonde boy just seemed to like keeping everything to himself, and he was more than willing to push everyone close to him away in the process. Millhouse knew this, and tried his best to be a good friend whilst also trying to accept that Bart was a closed book. One that if you tried too hard to open, wouldn't hesitate to bite you.

~-~X~-~

Once they arrived and found an empty space in the large and unruly school parking lot, Bart jumped out of the car and carelessly dumped his trash from their take-out breakfast straight on the ground, stepping on what was left of his second cigarette.

"Bart, don't litter!" Millhouse groaned as he locked his car up. He walked around the vehicle and proceeded to bend over and pick up the greasy paper bags and busted cigarette butt.

"Hey, at least I didn't just leave it in your car like I used to," Bart said with a wolfish grin. He watched as Millhouse picked his mess up before they started walking towards the school building.

"Why do you even care? Let the grounds keeper take care of it. That's what he's paid to do."

Millhouse frowned thoughtfully as he dropped the trash in a bin as they passed it. " That doesn't mean you should make his job harder for him, and anyway, I just don't like littering, okay?"

"Fine, fine, be a tree-hugger then." Bart yawned for the second time that day and pulled at his bag strap so it was more secure on his shoulder.

"I'm not a tree-hugger!" Millhouse protested, "But if a teacher or the cops saw you…" he trailed off as a group of older guys swaggered towards them from behind the bicycle shed. They were only a few meters away and had a look of rough danger about them. Millhouse unconsciously shuddered slightly as the duo stopped dead.

"Hey there, Bart," the lead guy said slowly with a small smile. He raised a hand in greeting but neglected to wave it. "We've been waiting for you."

Millhouse's eyes went wide and instantly flicked to Bart, who looked worried. "Y-you know these guys, Bart?" he asked, hoping the answer was no whilst subconsciously knowing the answer was probably yes.

But the blonde didn't even look at Millhouse. "Why don't you go on ahead, Millhouse. I'll catch up in a minute," he said levelly, not once taking his eyes off the gang. He didn't want Millhouse involved in this.

"But- but Bart-" Millhouse began to protest.

"Go."

The blue-headed boy hesitated, then nodded and sheepishly walked off, his stride quick as he headed straight to the front of the main building.

There was silence as the small gang stared Bart down, the leader still smiling lightly. "So, Bart, what's new...?"

"I swear I didn't steal it!" Bart blurted immediately after no one was within earshot around them. "I didn't even open it!"

"Then where is it?" the leader asked, his smile instantly gone. "Anthony certainly didn't get it. We even waited a whole day, but neither you nor the package showed up. Anywhere."

Bart shook his head; "I know, Mark, and I'm sorry, but I was attacked on my way to the location. I was almost abducted, man!"

There was no trace of sympathy on Mark's face. "The key word in that, 'almost'. You still didn't deliver the package afterwards, or even return it."

Looking a little more worried, Bart nodded reluctantly. "But that's because the guys who attacked me stole it from me. I couldn't deliver or return what I didn't have."

A sudden scowl crossed Mark's face, making him look a little feral. "You lost it? Are you being fucking serious?" he yelled as a murmur went through the rest of his gang.

Bart flinched, his eyes wide again. "I-I'm sorry! But there was nothing I could do! I'm lucky I didn't die back there!"  
>"Enough!" Mark demanded. He waved off Bart's words, his expression seething. "Do you have any idea how much that shit was worth? No? More than you!" He raggedly ran a hand through his hair and glanced off to the side as he thought to himself.<p>

"Anthony isn't going to like this," a thin, sly-looking brunette from Mark's gang suddenly said. He took a step forward to talk to Mark. "Plus it's been over twenty four hours, which will just make him madder that he had to wait for nothing."

"I know, Luke!" Mark snapped, "Give me a minute to think of something, will you?"

Luke pursed his lips a moment before looking at Bart thoughtfully. "What about the kid?"

"What _about_ him?"

Scrutinising Bart, Luke circled him, and his intense gaze made the boy give a shudder of his own. But Bart held his chin up and forced the fear from his eyes.

"Well, you said the merchandise was worth more than him, but, to the right buyer, that mightn't be so true." he said, coming to a stop next to a now also thoughtful Mark.

"W-what do you mean?" Bart asked, feeling the urge to step away- run, even. But his logic told him to stay put for now. There was no way he could outrun all of these guys, and he wasn't exactly eager for them to harm him.

Mark rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You might be on to something there, Luke. Say, Bart?" he waited until he had the boy's attention, "Are you a virgin?"

Bart spluttered at the question he hadn't been expecting. "What?"

"Answer the question," Mark snapped firmly.

Having too much pride to answer such a question, Bart crossed his arms. "Get stuffed," he growled, wishing he had control over his most-likely flushing face.

Apparently, that told Mark all he needed to know. A surprising smile erupted across the gang leader's face. "You are. Excellent!"

Luke, who was smiling also, but not as broadly, stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Bart's collar. "Well then, Bart, it looks like we'll be getting our money from you after all," he said coolly, smugly.

The eldest Simpson child grew cold with fear. "What are you talking about? I never said I was!" he yelled weakly. Even though he was pretty sure he knew what they had in mind, he wanted a vocal confirmation. Just in case he was wrong. Just in case things hadn't turned as bad as he thought they had.

"S' not too bright," Luke muttered with a small frown.

"That doesn't matter," Mark said, smiling and stepping forward to join Luke in grabbing Bart's jacket so the boy couldn't run away. "You, Bart, are going to be sold to the highest bidder." He sounded just too happy.

Bart's worst fears were confirmed. He immediately tensed and then struggled with all his might in an attempt to get out of the iron grips he'd found himself in. Panic swirling in his gut. His expression one of terror. "You can't! I'm not an object! Let me go!"

"You are to us," Mark snarled, jerking Bart's collar with harsh force, making the blonde's head snap back sickeningly. Bart's vision blurred.

"Unhand that boy this instant!"

Everyone, including Bart, turned to look at the suited man marching towards them. The headmaster of the high school, accompanied by a couple of other teachers and a timid-looking Millhouse stopped next to the group of young men.

"Excuse me, old man?" Mark spat, his hold on Bart unrelenting. The headmaster wasn't old, by any standards, but perhaps middle aged. Everything about him from the way he held himself to his hard face told that he wasn't one to be messed with.

"You heard me; unhand him," he said firmly with clear authority. The headmaster glared down at Mark as he raised a cordless phone up. "That is if you want to get out of here before the police show up?"

Mark paused and just looked at the phone for a moment, as if pondering if he could just grab Bart and run. But he seemed to give in to logic, for he snarled and looked down at Bart.

"Looks like we'll be seeing you later then, Simpson," he said before reluctantly letting go of the boy. He glanced at the headmaster and his group of teachers with obvious loathing. He wasn't stupid enough to think for a second that he'd get very far with kidnapping Bart right in front of the suited headmaster and his mob of teachers.

Luke, however, bent low to whisper in Bart's ear, "We know where you live, after all…" he smirked as he, too, let Bart go and took a step back.

Feelings of relief mingling with fresh fear swam through Bart as he quickly rushed over to a pallid Millhouse, who was hiding halfway behind the headmaster. Millhouse immediately hugged Bart, and even though Bart didn't return it he let his terrified friend squeeze his torso. Bart placed a hand on top of Millhouse's head and looked over at Mark, Luke and the three other guys in the gang.

Mark gave one last, nasty glare to Bart and Millhouse before turning to his comrades and with a simple gesture, signalled their hurried retreat.

"Bart, are you okay?" Millhouse asked, worry etched into his features. It gave Bart a sense of comfort to know that there was at least one person in his life that actually cared about him.

The blonde nodded before looking over at the headmaster, who was giving Bart an unnameable look. "Did you really call the police?" he asked.

The headmaster cracked a smile. "No, I was bluffing. I'll have to call them now, though."

"No," Bart protested, shaking his head firmly. "Please, Sir, can I just go home and do that myself?"

"I'll drive him home," Millhouse offered eagerly, letting go of his friend and looking up at the headmaster.

But the headmaster looked dubious. "I'm not sure if I can allow that, I'm afraid," he said thoughtfully, "I have a duty of care, after all. You can leave after you've talked to the police, though."

"How about if I call my parents to come get me?" Bart asked, not wanting to spend the day at school all the while knowing what Mark was planning. "I'd really rather go some place safe."

Besides, what would he tell the police?

The headmaster paused for a moment, then after glancing in the direction that Mark and the others had fled, nodded slowly. "Alright, as long as you call them from my phone," he said before gesturing for them to follow him and leading them across the car park and into the main building.

"You can go into my office to use the phone," the headmaster said. He nodded towards his office door and after passing Bart his cordless phone, watched the blonde student go, but stopped Millhouse before the spectacled boy could follow his friend. "Am I correct in assuming that you're alright to spend the day at school, Millhouse?"

Millhouse watched Bart close the office door behind him before looking up at the headmaster. "I- I guess so, Sir."

"Then you'd better get to class. I'll write you a note."

~-~X~-~

Bart waited impatiently as the phone continued to ring, pacing the room before taking a seat in the headmaster's comfy, black chair that resided behind a large, wooden desk. "C'mon…pick up already," he whispered into the phone as it rung.

It rang out.

Cursing his bad luck, Bart dialled the number to his house again. His mother really should be home at this time of the day; she usually was anyway. He needed to get out of school, get home to pack and leave. There was no way he could stay in Springfield now, not whilst he had a pack of hungry thugs after him, planning to sell him off to some random sleezebag. Maybe his family would understand, maybe they'd help him…the chances seemed slim, especially considering he couldn't explain the situation to them in much detail; but what else could he do?

Finally, someone picked the phone up. "Yeah? Who's this?"

Bart cursed his bad luck again. "…Dad? It's me, Bart. Where's mom? I need to talk to her."

"She's not here. What's wrong with talking to me?" Homer asked, a pout obvious in his voice.

"N-nothing, I just… Hey, aren't you supposed to be at work?" Bart asked, grasping at straws. There was no way Homer could help him with this, nor did he want to put up with his stupidity today.

"I quit!" Homer said triumphantly, as if it were a good thing.,"those fools will be lost without me."

"…You got fired again?"

There was a pause. "How'd you know that?" Homer asked bluntly. Curiosity laced in his voice.

Sighing silently in frustration, Bart squeezed his eyes shut and raised his free hand to his forehead. "Where's mom, Homer?"

"Don't call your father that, boy, that's being disrespectful that is."

"Oh god, tell me you're not drunk," Bart groaned. "In the middle of the day? Really?"

There was spluttering on the other end of the phone. "How did you know? Are you hiding somewhere, watching me? A-ha! You're under the table!" Suddenly the phone disconnected.

Bart just stared at the phone in disbelief for a minute before slowly putting the phone down. "Just fucking fantastic…" he muttered, now running his hand through his hair.

Who else was there for him to call? Now that Maggie was in school, his mom had a lot of free time on her hands, so Bart really couldn't blame her for getting out of the house. Especially if Homer was at home, fired and drunk. Plus, just to make things difficult for him, Bart was sure, the stupid headmaster wasn't going to let him leave early if a parent wasn't going to come pick him up. If he was forced to stay, the headmaster would call the police, and everything Bart had been involved in when it came to Mark and the others would come out in the open.

Bart had done some stuff he wasn't proud of- illegal stuff. There was no way he could allow all of that to bubble to the surface for everyone to see, for him to be charged with. Not to mention what would happen if Mark saw him talking to the police and thought he was squealing... Even if he could weasel his way out of the police finding out about Bart's dark deeds, Mark would certainly be waiting for him after school was out. He was well and truly screwed.

Then, a thought crossed his mind and one of his hands shot into the pocket of his jeans to finger a small piece of paper that he'd forgotten all about until just then. What if… No! No way, Sideshow Bob was not to be trusted; he wanted Bart dead even more than Mark and Luke. But he _did_ save Bart's butt the other day when he could've tried to kill him instead. He even dropped him off home and offered him a hand whenever he might need it.

There was hardly a doubt in Bart's mind that Bob's intentions were sinister, but what choice did he really have? Homer was about as unreliable as a monkey, Marge was out of contact, Maggie was too young to be of any help and Lisa…how could his sister help him this time? She couldn't; he needed an adult with a car to at least fake being his parent.

He'd have to risk it. There was a good chance he could evade Bob's murderous intentions, but Mark…Mark was something else entirely.

His palms sweaty, Bart pulled the piece of paper out and dialled the phone again. This time it only took three rings before someone answered it.

"Hello?"

Bart cringed at the deep voice, the voice that could not help but sound sly, intelligent and…dangerous. "Um, Si-…Bob?"

"Speaking. Who's this?" Bob asked. He sounded calm and collected, not at all like Bart's dad had only a couple of minutes ago.

"This is…Bart," Bart said hesitantly. The blonde hated this, hated crawling to his enemy like this. Hated lowering himself to this. Bob didn't deserve to hear Bart so vulnerable, to even think that the eldest Simpson child needed him.

"Bart?" Bob asked, sounding surprised, "To what do I owe the pleasure of such an unexpected call?"

This is where Bart's plan ended. What was he supposed to say to this man? 'I'm being hunted to be sold, my father's an unreliable drunk, and my headmaster's a stubborn prick. So could you come get me?'...Uh, no.

"You told me… well you said that if I ever needed anything, I should call you…" Bart said gingerly, the toes of his shoes digging into the carpet nervously.

"…And you need me now?" Bob asked slowly.

Bart could feel his face becoming hot. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment or both, he wasn't sure, but neither did he give it much thought. "Um, sort of."

"Well I can hardly help you if you don't tell me what's going on, Bart," Bob said, not too unkindly. "What's happening? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt. Yet," he said, and then mentally slapped himself for adding that last part. Bob didn't need to know all the details. "Are you willing to help me or not?"

"Willing? Yes," Bob said, and Bart could hear movement on the other side of the phone. "Just tell me what you need and I'll do my best to assist."

Sighing in relief, Bart closed his eyes momentarily to form a quick plan.

"Bart? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here," Bart said and opened his eyes, his face determined. He'll survive this, and come out in one piece, scathed or not. "Listen, I need you to come to my school, Springfield high, and park out the front. But don't get out; just wait for me…with the windows rolled up."

There was a silent pause before Bart heard Bob clear his throat. "Okay, Bart, I'll do as you wish, as long as you tell me afterwards why I'm doing it."

"You don't need to know. You said you'd help me if I needed it. You didn't say you needed an explanation or else you wouldn't lift a finger," Bart protested, irked.

"It's all I ask, Bart," Bob came back, still sounding calm. "Is it so much to ask for an explanation as to why I'm doing something so…particular?"

Bart was about to come back with a firm and sarcastic retort when the door opened and the headmaster entered. Crap. He had to make it seem like he was talking to a parent now.

"…Okay, thanks, I'll see you in a few, then?" Bart asked, his voice sounding different than from mere seconds ago.

"…Er, sure. I'm on my way," Bob said.

"Sure, love you, too," Bart said before hanging up. He looked up at the headmaster and feigned surprise at his presence. "My dad's on his way," he lied easily.

The headmaster nodded before looking at Bart pointedly. It took Bart a moment to remember where he was sitting.

"Oh, sorry," Bart murmured as he stood from the headmaster's comfortable chair and moved to sit in one of the visitor chairs instead. Bart knew the headmaster here quite well by now, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. He wasn't particularly harsh, but he was still annoying in Bart's books; especially for his uncanny ability to make Bart feel guilt and remorse. Not to mention his persistence.

Smiling good-naturedly, the headmaster sat himself down behind his desk. "Now, Bart, it's my duty to ask you why those boys were harassing you just now," he said, sounding almost defensive.

Bart nodded, he'd known this was coming. "Sorry about that, Sir. They're just a bunch of bullies, really. I'm not exactly in their good books… Thank you for stepping in, though. I might have gotten a bad black eye if you hadn't."

The headmaster looked at Bart thoughtfully, as if he were deciding whether to believe this or not. "I doubt that a black eye would have been the biggest worry on your mind," he said slowly, carefully.

"Sir?" Bart asked innocently.

"Bart, I've been a headmaster for quite a few years, and I've come to know bullies when I see them. But those…young men, looked a lot more dangerous than mere local bullies," he said.

The blonde student paused, looking at the headmaster unflinchingly. "I assure you, Sir, that their bark is worse than their bite... I think I should go wait for my dad." he stood from the hard chair and watched as the headmaster did the same.

"I want you to know that you can talk to me, Bart," the elder man said earnestly. "Or one of the school's counsellors if you'd feel more comfortable with them. You don't need to deal with…'bullies'… all by yourself."

Bart nodded and walked to the door. "Thank you, Sir, I'll keep that in mind," he said, blank-faced, before opening said door end exiting the air-conditioned office. _...Fucking ponce,_ he though to himself as he left.

The headmaster sighed softly and looked at his phone thoughtfully for a minute before sitting back down in his big, black chair. There was no doubt in his wizened mind; that boy needed help.


	3. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Between a Rock and a Hard Place.

_Phew! I'm extremely sorry for the late update. I've been moving house, and so have been very busy. This chapter was a pain in the backside, but I forced myself to do it for you awesome reviewers. :-)_

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Don't you ever wonder maybe if you took a left turn instead of a right you could be someone different?" -Unknown_

Bob pulled up in his quiet, almost silent car in Springfield high's car park and watched as Bart Simpson stood from the curb of the side-walk, picked his bag up, and walked straight over to him. It certainly wasn't something he was used to seeing; the spiky-headed youth willingly and knowingly walking towards him. But there it was, right in front of him. Bart scarcely opened the passenger side door and slid inside before pulling the door closed harshly behind him.  
>The ex-clown thought about reprimanding him about slamming his car doors, but thought better of it and instead just put his vehicle into gear and drove out of the car park. "So, Bart, how about that explanation?"<p>

"What explanation?" Bart asked stoically.

Bob sighed, "Enough games, Simpson, I dropped everything I was doing to come out here and pick you up. The least you could do is explain why exactly I needed to do as much. I know a simple 'thank you' would be too much to ask, after all." He didn't sound irritated, but tired.

The younger wanted to roll his eyes. _Thank you for giving you what you've wanted for so long? _he thought to himself bitterly. But for once in his life he was thinking logically, and so kept his real thoughts to himself. "No. Thank you," he said quietly.

Once again, Bob was shocked when he heard Bart thank him. "You're…very welcome, Bart," Bob managed.

There was a pause in which Bart mentally smirked at successfully evading Bob's probing before he looked out the window. "Where're you taking me?"

"Well, you've yet to give me a destination, so I've just been driving you back to your house," Bob explained simply.

Bart nodded and sat back in the comfortable leather seat. "Yeah, that's the destination," he said whilst he idly looked around the vehicle he was riding in. It wasn't hard notice just how nice it was. It was surely the nicest car he'd ever been in. It was spotlessly clean and looked as Bart was sure it would have looked the first day the attempted murderer had bought it. It even smelt nice.

Soon Bart started recognising the houses in his street. He sat up and looked out the windshield. Which he was later thankful for doing because right outside his house, sitting on his _freaking_ lawn, was Mark. Eyes wide, Bart gasped at the small group of young men.

"Don't stop the car!" Bart cried, quickly ducking down in his seat, "Just drive straight past! Don't you dare stop!"

"What?" Bob asked, his eyebrows furrowed, "why?"

"Just do it! Don't look at the house! Don't look at the guys out the front! Please!" Bart begged. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest like a hammer, the echo of it bouncing around in his supposedly empty head. He could not possibly even begin to emphasise how happy he was when he watched Bob just continue driving, a frown still plastered on his face.

After a minute, Bob briefly glanced down at Bart. "We're out of your street. Now I think you _really_ owe me an explanation."

Bart sat up slowly, cautiously, and after making sure that they really were out of his street he sighed and looked at Bob. "I suppose there's no avoiding it now…"

"There certainly isn't," Bob said, sounding firm and strict. It was obvious that the man was confused and frustrated, which, for an attempted murderer, probably wasn't a good thing.

"It's…sort of a long story," Bart murmured, running a hand through his blonde locks and dropping his gaze.

The ex-clown stared at the road ahead, not allowing his eyes to flick back to his longed-for prey. "Well, why don't you tell me where we're headed now before you get started telling me this 'long story'," he said evenly.

But Bart didn't know where to go now. He didn't have any money, so he couldn't catch a bus out of Springfield. He couldn't go home to his parents to see if they'd help him, either; his house was being watched, and for how long he had no idea.

Bob seemed to catch on to the silence. "How about we go get some early lunch?" he suggested.

"Only if you're paying," Bart said bluntly.

After a blink, Bob smiled slightly, amused. "Alright. But this better be a good story."

~-~X~-~

The odd-looking duo sat opposite each other in a cafe booth, the youngest raking his eyes over a laminated menu.

"Anything I want?"

Bob smiled and nodded, "anything you want."

Smirking like the little devil he was, Bart waved down a waitress and smiled at her oddly politely. "I'll have the double cheeseburger meal with extra fries, extra onion rings, a large caramel sundae aaand," he briefly looked at the menu again, "an extra large chocolate milkshake."

The waitress looked hesitant, but after a nod from Bob she scribbled down Bart's order. "And for you?"

The redhead didn't even look at the menu; "A black coffee, thank you, and make it strong."

The waitress smiled and after telling them that their orders would be ready shortly, bound off towards the kitchen.

After watching the bouncy waitress leave, Bart broke the silence; "You're not hungry?" he asked absently as he took a handful of sugar packages from the dish on the table and slipped them into his jacket pocket.

"No, but you obviously are," Bob said as he watched Bart stealing. "Are you seriously going to take those sugar packets? What possible use could you even have for them?"

Bart blinked, then smiled. "Yes, I am. You'd be surprised," he said mischievously.

"…I've no doubt I would," Bob muttered, then cleared his throat. "So are you ready to tell me what's going on?"

The blonde pursed his lips in feigned thought. "Well, we're sitting in a dingy cafe and being served by a waitress who has a really nice rack-"

"Bart!" Bob spluttered, looking around to see if the waitress was near and had heard. He looked back at the boy to see him smiling genuinely. "Though I suppose I should expect nothing less from a teenage boy, I must say, that was very inappropriate."

"Really?" Bart asked innocently, reaching out to take the last sugar, ripping it open and pouring the contents onto his tongue.

"Yes, really," Bob said, crinkling his nose at Bart's actions. "And by 'what's going on' I meant with you having me pick you up from your school before the day had hardly begun and then freaking out when we reached your house."

"Ah," Bart muttered, deflated, "that. Can't we wait until after I've eaten? I'm really hungry."

With a sigh, Bob nodded. "Fine, but then I get the entire story, okay?"

Bart nodded and smiled again, but this one didn't reach his eyes. "You got it. The whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God!" he said seriously.

After about fifteen minutes wait, the waitress appeared again. "Here's your food," she announced, placing the food down in front of their respective orderer. "Double cheeseburger meal with extra fries, extra onion rings and a caramel sundae. Would either of you like anything else?"

"No, thank you," Bob said, forcing himself not to look at the waitress' apparent 'nice rack'. He really couldn't care less if the woman was well-endowed or not, but it was like being told not to do something, anything- it compels you to do just that.

"No problem." The waitress smiled, nodded and walked off to take another table's order. Bart just happily picked up a fry and took an experimental bite.

"Hurry up and eat so you can get to your story," Bob ordered, running a finger around the rim of his off-white coffee cup.

"You can't rush me, or else I won't enjoy my meal," Bart said with a mock whine, "If you'd ordered something yourself you wouldn't have to just sit there and watch me eat my lovely food."

"I don't eat take-out like this," Bob said matter-of-factly as he looked at Bart's dish with a look of uncertainty. "It's not good for you."

Snorting, Bart rolled his eyes, "So what? It's not like eating it once or twice every now and then will kill you or something," he scoffed, slowly devouring his burger. "Here, have some of my fries."

"No, thank you," Bob said, looking like he'd like nothing more than to lecture Bart on eating with his mouth full. "I'm sure you can finish off those grease-sticks on your own."

Smiling now, Bart picked up one of his many fries and lifted it up level to Bob's mouth. "C'mon, I think I ordered too much anyway."

"I said no, thank you very much."

"Waste not, Bob, waste not!" Bart grinned, slowly bringing the fry closer and closer to Bob's mouth. "It's not that bad! In fact, they taste really good! Open wide for the chu, chu train!"

Looking torn between annoyance and amusement (with annoyance clearly winning), Bob scowled. "I'd advise you to take that oily, processed excuse for nourishment out of my face," he said.

The moment that fry touched Bob's lips, the redhead snatched it out of Bart's grip; leaving the boy leaning over the table awkwardly, his hand outstretched towards Bob and one of his fingertips barely touching the man's lips.

Something inside himself Bob immediately called ire, arose, causing him to jerk back and crush the soft fry in his hand. "Bart..." he said lowly, his tone dark. Right there; there was the cocky, arrogant kid Bob had been trying to rid the world of for all these years, and he was glad for a reminder as to why he was doing it all in the first place.

Bart merely laughed as he slowly sat back down. "Sorry, Bob. Couldn't resist," he chortled, sounding and looking just a tad sheepish. The blonde poked at his food.

Looking all but forgiving, Bob grasped his coffee and sipped it, thankful that it was as strong as he'd hoped.

The fact that Bart was acting so confidently around his attempted murder didn't pass Bob's attention. The boy was so open and almost…relaxed? Did he trust Bob already? The ex-clown had been prepared for long, gruelling weeks, months even of gaining the eldest Simpson child's trust. He knew Bart was not the brightest seventeen-year-old alive, but he also knew he wasn't stupid. Most of all, Bart wasn't nearly so trusting of Bob.

Bob watched Bart eat without a care in the world. How could this boy, who was obviously in trouble, who couldn't even go home, who was currently in the company of his (several times) attempted murderer, be so calm?

"You've seem to have…forgiven me quite easily," Bob mused out loud, placing his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers, his eyes keened on the boy.

With a snort, Bart raised an eyebrow at Bob. "Forgiven you? Ha. You wish," he shook his head as if the elder man was nothing more than a naive child declaring pigs could fly.

"But you believe me when I say I've turned over a new leaf?" Bob asked curiously.

"Hell no!" Bart scoffed, not even bothering to look at the redhead now.

Tilting his head thoughtfully, Bob frowned a little. "Then…why are you so relaxed? So comfortable sitting here with me? Heck, why'd you call me to come get you if you still think I'll try to hurt you?"

Still chewing, Bart looked up at Bob with unfathomable eyes. "I called you because I had no other choice," he paused before he put his burger down and looked Bob in the eye. "And because even though I don't believe you, I'm not afraid of you any more."

That statement jolted something else deep inside of Bob, something he couldn't put a name to. The boy wasn't afraid of him? He wasn't afraid of the person gunning for his life? Preposterous. But then he looked into Bart's empty, blue eyes and felt the truth of their owner's words. Those eyes looked almost lifeless; and for a tiny moment, Bob was lost.

The blonde student had gone back to his food, but was only picking at it now. "I think I'm ready to tell you what's going on now," he said quietly, "do you want the long story or the short one?"

Pulled back from his thoughts, Bob nodded his encouragement. "I want to know everything."

Bart sighed loudly and leaned back, his eyes unfocused as he ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I guess it started when I was fifteen."

Hiding his surprise well, Bob did the opposite of Bart and leaned forward, his hands still interlaced in front of his mouth. "Fifteen?"

"Yeah. You see, we were fifteen when Millhouse came out." Bart paused to give Bob a pointed look. "Of the closet, that it. Anyway, he came out and told me he was seeing some random guy- who I still haven't even met!" He scoffed, looking irritated.

"And that's relevant, because…?" Bob pushed.

"Because that's when Millhouse started ditching me in favour of his boyfriend. My only friend, putting ho's before bro's." Bart shook his head exasperatedly, frowning. "It was after that my life started…I dunno…spiralling down, I guess you could say."  
>"Why are you telling me this, Bart?" Bob asked. It wasn't like he didn't want to hear it; any information revolving around Bart helped Bob with his ultimate goal. It just didn't occur to him why the boy was spilling his guts about stuff he didn't have to.<p>

Bart shot Bob a small glare, as if the man should be grateful. "Because I want you to understand why I did what I did, and what possessed me to get involved with Mark."

"Mark?"

The blonde's eyes widened slightly, "I- I don't mean involved like _that_!" He flushed slightly, still frowning. "Mark's a dealer."

Bob's face darkened. "You've been doing drugs?"

"No- well, I _have_ done em' but I don't _do_ drugs." Bart shook his head, his face passive now; "I almost got hooked when Mark first insisted I take some, but I got lucky and had a chance to snap out of it before I could get addicted or anything. I refused after that."

Expression carefully calm, Bob nodded silently.

"Anyway," Bart sighed. "Mark befriended me- not like it was hard or anything; I was practically an awe-eyed puppy. At the time, I was still kinda freaked out over Millhouse's gayness, so I jumped at the first 'cool', masculine, completely _straight_ guy that came along and offered friendship.

"He definitely was cool, though…had his own gang that practically jumped to command whenever he walked into the same room as them."

"Are these the boys that we saw on your front lawn?" Bob asked, his memory of the night he followed Bart when he went to meet with these exact friends vivid. He kept his mouth shut about that though. He didn't want Bart knowing that he'd stalked him for a month before he saved him that same night.

Bart nodded and looked out the window. "I soon found out that they weren't as cool as I'd originally thought, though. They're involved in drugs, car theft, the black market, you name it."  
>"And you'd walked straight into their web…" Bob murmured.<p>

"You got it," Bart said with a very forced, weak smile. "And I had no choice but to be their lackey after being tricked to deliver illegal objects and substances unknowingly. It was always; 'Hey, Bart, could you take this to George for me?' or 'Oh, could you go give this to Joe? I owe him.' and I was stupid enough to just nod and do it.

"After I caught on, they threatened to set me up, get the police onto me, whatever, unless I continued to do what they asked like a good boy. They knew everything about me, where I lived, my full name, my family, everything. But I knew almost nothing but their first names."

After checking that there was no one close enough to hear their conversation, Bob leaned closer to the table. "It sounds like they do that sort of stuff often," he noted. "Trick young boys like they did you, that is. They sure had it down pat."

Nodding again, Bart looked back from the window. "Yeah, they're a bunch of bastards. You should've seen what they did to Sam when he refused to continue being their dog after he found out…" He trailed off, as if he didn't want to remember.

"So that's the package you lost that night when I dropped you off home," Bob said more than asked. "But what about the fiasco at your school? And why were they at your house?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it." Bart glanced up at Bob before looking away again. "It was because I lost the package. They came after me and happened to catch me arriving late at school. They said that because I'd lost them so much money they were going to…" he trailed off again, his face growing pale.

"They were going to…what?" Bob asked softly, his eyes intent.

Bart took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "They said they were going to sell me off to the highest bidder." He let loose a dark chuckle, even though Bob knew the boy didn't find it funny at all.

Bob's eyes widened. "But…they can't do that. Selling and buying people is illegal…" He stopped himself when he heard what he was saying. Illegal was apparently what _Mark_ did best.

Blonde hair flopped as Bart shook his head, still smiling unsettlingly. "Black market, remember? They also tricked me into telling them I was a virgin. So there's no doubt what kind of sleazeball would 'buy' me," Bart said, looking rightly disgusted.

Bob discovered his throat becoming tight. What kind of sick, disturbed, cruel young men were these?

There was a short, unnerving pause in which both males thought to themselves silently. It was Bob who broke it.

"Why did you call me, then, to come get you?" Bob suddenly asked. "Not to mention the whole 'stay in the car' and 'keep the windows rolled up' stuff."

"Because the headmaster was going to call the police," Bart murmured, poking at his onion rings with his finger. "But I got him to let me call home so they could come get me, and I'd tell them what happened and they'd call the police and yadda yadda…"

"But, no one was home?"

Bart glanced at Bob hesitantly. "Dad was home. He'd been fired from his job and was lounging about the house, drunk. He wasn't about to jump up and go get me from school, nor did he even give me a chance to ask him to. He hung up on me."

Bob frowned, letting everything he'd just been told attempt to compute properly.

"My sisters are at school, and let's face it, they couldn't do anything anyway. And mom is…well I dunno where she is, actually. Enjoying some fresh air whilst her drunk, unemployed bum of a husband slouched about the house, probably," Bart said bitterly before shoving a few cold fries into his mouth.

"Would Mark do something to your family if you don't show up? He is at your house after all?" Bob asked, trying to think logically whilst still frowning at Bart's words.

But Bart just shook his head and swallowed his mouthful. "Nah, he may be a cruel bastard, but he's petty and also a coward. Even if any of my family ask who they are he'll probably just tell them that they're friends of mine, waiting for me, or something."

The ex-clown considered that briefly before waving a waitress over and asking for the bill. "So, what are you going to do now?" He asked Bart after the waitress had left, happy, with the money and a nice tip.

"I…" Bart furrowed his blonde brows and stared down at the salt shaker. "I'm not sure, but I can't stay in Springfield; Mark knows where I live, where I go to school… Maybe I'll hitch a ride out of town."

Bob paused. That wouldn't be any good at all. The fact that hitch-hiking was dangerous, especially for such a young boy, came to the forefront of his mind, but Bob pushed that thought away; telling himself he didn't care for the boy's safety. But if Bart left town, Bob's plans to befriend the boy, gain his trust and ultimately kill him would no longer be able to come to pass. He wouldn't even know where the boy was any more.

"That'd be about as safe as sleeping on a park bench right here in Springfield," he dead-panned, standing up from the booth and wincing as his cramped legs protested against the movement.

"Well what else am I supposed to do? I don't have a car, I don't have any money for a taxi or a bus," Bart retorted, standing too. "And I certainly can't go home!"

"Why don't you call your parents again? I'm sure your mother would be home by now," Bob suggested.

Bart scoffed and his gaze dropped to the floor. "It'd be a miracle if they actually helped me. They'd more likely call the police and tell them what I've been doing the past two years. I'd have a better chance with random strangers."

"…Well, I have an idea- if you wish to hear it?" Bob asked, gesturing for Bart to follow him. The two walked outside and into the fresh, chilly air.

"…What is it?" Bart asked, not too eagerly. He breathed in a breath of the sweet air and felt his guts twist at the thought of living homeless in a strange town. In all honestly, he'd ordered such a large meal and stuffed himself silly because he thought it was going to be the last hot meal he was going to eat in a while.

"Well- now this is only a suggestion," Bob pointed out before continuing, "you could always stay at my house until you figure something proper out. I'll help with getting you out of this sticky mess so you can stay in Springfield and go back home. If you'd like."

Bart stopped dead and stared at Bob as if he'd grown an extra head and four more limbs. "Why?" He asked bluntly, sounding almost dumbfounded.

Turning back to face the young man, Bob smiled lightly. "I've already told you; I want to make up for everything I've done to you in the past. Or at least as much as is possible." He pulled out his keys and unlocked his car via a button on his key-chain before opening the passenger-side door for Bart.

"Or I could just drop you off wherever, of course."

_I wonder, _Bart thought afterwards as he sat, drifting off in the passenger-side seat of Sideshow Bob's shiny black car, _whether I would've faired better with Mark…_ He spared Bob a sleepy glance, only to see his passive face in profile, focused on the road ahead. Bart closed his eyes. _Somehow, I doubt it._

* * *

><p><em>Tired JDOL out.<br>_


	4. You Came to Me

You Came to Me.

_I made this chapter extra long because you guys waited for so long. Editing has...slowed, as I have practically no time for it. Hope it doesn't show too much._

"_Come live in my heart, and pay no rent." -Samuel Lover _

The next time Bart opened his eyes it was to witness Bob leaning over him. Letting out an audible gasp of panic, Bart tried to back up but found himself lying down rather than sitting or standing.

"Whoa there, Bart, calm down. You fell asleep in the car," Bob said, backing up himself and dropping his hands down by his sides to show no threat. 

After staring at Bob, wide-eyed, Bart slowly sat up and looked around.

"I carried you inside and had just managed to put you on the couch when you awoke and obviously jumped to conclusions," Bob explained levelly, his expression remaining passive. "Not that I blame you, or your sleep-addled mind."

"You…you weren't trying to kill me?" Bart asked, his exhausted mind trying to catch up. He rubbed an eye as he waited for an answer.

Bob smiled, apparently amused. "No, I was not."

"…Oh." Bart nodded and suddenly his surroundings started sinking in. He was in what looked like a decent sized house. Assuming the room he was in was the lounge room, Bart looked over the objects, and ultimately, the possessions of Bob's. The man had some nice stuff, he concluded.

"It's still early," Bob said, still standing a few feet away from the blonde boy. "But you can sleep if you want to."

Bart looked out the nearest window to see the sun shining brightly still. "What's the time?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to give in to the desire to sleep in the presence of a man who wanted to kill him. Then again, he already _had_ fallen asleep in Bob's car…and the ex-clown had not tried to kill him, but instead carried Bart inside and laid him on his couch! What did that mean…?

"It's roughly one in the afternoon," Bob said, lifting his gaze past Bart's head.

The Simpson followed Bob's line of sight and looked behind himself too, to see an open kitchen and dining room behind him. The fact that everything practically shone with cleanliness was the first thing Bart noticed as his eyes skimmed over the new room. It was so unlike his own home that it unsettled him slightly and made him feel rather out of place. Bart noticed the clock on the wall and was satisfied that Bob had just been checking the time and not looking for a murder weapon or something equally devious.

"I think I'll just rest," Bart said, lifting his feet off the side of the couch and carefully taking his shoes off to drop them carelessly on the floor.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Bob asked, his rich, dark voice all Bart needed to identify the sinister man- picture him even.

"Uh…a glass of water wouldn't be bad," Bart said, only just noticing how dry his mouth was. He licked his lips and looked up at Bob to see that the man hadn't moved and was still just gazing at him. Bart looked back at him, trying to figure out what the man was thinking. "Or…whatever, I don't mind."

Bob suddenly blinked and nodded curtly. "Water it is," he said before walking around the couch, towards the kitchen.

Frowning slightly, Bart watched the man leave the room before mentally shrugging it off and shifting on the couch so he was more comfortable. _He was probably just pondering on how best to dispose of my body after he's killed me._ Bart thought to himself grimly, still refusing to believe the man had truly changed and didn't want to kill him any more. He was going to fall asleep sooner or later though, or let his guard down long enough for Bob to knife him or however he planned on killing him, and then it would be over. It crossed his mind that he'd rather die in his sleep, so he didn't feel the pain or the fear.

"Here you go," Bob said, handing Bart a tall glass half-filled with crystal-clear liquid.

Bart took it, but didn't take a drink just yet. He cradled it in his lap and looked up at Bob, looking the man straight in the eye so the man knew he was serious. "Bob?"

The ex-clown looked down at Bart and paused from moving away. "Yes, Bart? You want some ice cubes?"

The blonde boy shook his head. "No. But can I ask you a favour?"

Raising a curious eyebrow, Bob crossed his arms. "I've already done you plenty of favours for you to know you hardly need to ask permission to ask one of me. Go on."

"When you try to kill me-" Bart raised a hand when Bob opened his mouth, no doubt to protest. "Please, Bob, I'm not stupid; I know you're going to at least try. Anyway, when you try to kill me, could you please do it when I'm asleep?"

Looking at him with an unfathomable expression, Bob just closed his mouth and shook his head. "Bart… you're going to have to believe me when I say I'm not going to try and kill you."

Shrugging, Bart looked down at his drink and ran a finger around the rim of the glass like he'd seen Bob do earlier with his mug. "Whatever you say, Bob…Just remember what I asked for…please."

"Trust me, I won't forget such a request in a rush," Bob murmured.

Nodding, Bart held his glass up a little. "So, there's nothing in here that'll…you know, poison me or anything?" He asked blankly.

Looking almost crestfallen, Bob shook his head. "No, Bart. Not unless you're allergic to water."

Smiling, Bart shook his head and raised the glass and took a long gulp of the water, not even stopping to decide whether it tasted normal or not. He chugged it until it was all gone and then gasped a breath in when he was finished, handing the empty, perspiring glass back to Bob. "Thanks."

Bob stared at Bart with slightly wide eyes and mechanically reached out to accept the glass back again. "You're welcome," he said quietly before moving back to the kitchen again.

Pausing for a moment to make sure he wasn't about to heave the water back up again, Bart sighed, relieved the water had been just that, water. He rubbed at his eyes again and laid down on the couch, feeling even sleepier than he had before.

A blanket suddenly draped itself over Bart's thin frame and the boy looked up to see Bob offering him a soft-looking pillow. Bart feebly took the pillow on offer and stuffed it under his head, sighing when he felt both comfortable and warm. Bart watched with half-lidded eyes as Bob moved to the fireplace, which was directly in front of the couch Bart was on, and began to start a fire. The last thing Bart Simpson saw before he fell asleep was Bob's back, topped by an array of curly red hair… And the last thing that went through his mind was that even though this was most likely the last time he'd see _anything_, he wasn't upset that his last sight was that of Sideshow Bob. 

~-~X~-~

Bob stood and turned back to the couch to see Bart's eyes closed and a look of peacefulness dawning upon his youthful face. The ex-clown moved over to the Simpson and after watching the boy sleep for a moment or two, pulled the blanket over his shoulders and stepped away. There was always time, and anyway, his plan was not yet complete. If he killed the boy now there would be no doubt that Bob would get all the blame, which obviously wasn't something he wanted. He'd had enough of prison to last a lifetime.

Ascending the stairs, Bob mulled over his day, deciding it to be as confusing as it was eventful. He turned into his study and after flicking on the light switch, pressed the flashing-red light on his answering machine and sat in his computer chair with a sigh.

"You have one message," the machine stated, and Bob then listened to his own voice, "You've reached Robert Terwilliger's house. I am unable to answer the phone right now, so please leave your name, number and reason for calling after the tone and I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible."

**Beep. **

The redhead frowned as he listened to the second of silence after the tone before the line just went dead. Someone had called and listened to Bob's answering machine before hanging up without leaving a message. Mentally waving off the mysterious message, he leaned back in his chair and raised a couple of fingers up to tap his lips thoughtfully, his focus now completely on the young boy he harboured downstairs. 

Bart didn't believe him, which should be a bad thing, but really, it didn't seem to be changing things very much. The boy still believed Bob wanted to kill him, yet still he came home with him and fell asleep on his couch. After drinking water he hadn't watched Bob pour, too. But what baffled the man the most was the boy's request.

"_When you try to kill me, could you please do it when I'm asleep?"_

Those small words meant so much. They were the difference between life and death. Bart had practically accepted Bob's murderous intentions…even _requested_ a death more suited to him. Had the boy really that little to lose? Raising a hand to massage his temple, Bob closed his eyes. He had a lot to think about…

~-~X~-~

Bart was in a dark, dingy alley. The night sky sported no stars and was just a mass of black nothingness up above his head; the only source of light came from an old street lamp that was just out of plain sight. The walls were bricked, gratified and although Bart had not touched them he knew they would feel grimy if he did. The hairs on the back of Bart's neck stood up on end and his skin was goose-bumped; there was such an overwhelming sense of fear here.

Then, from the abundance of shadows stepped Millhouse, smiling and happy, even though he was in such a dismal, filthy place, and Bart immediately calmed. Giving a smile of his own, the eldest Simpson child moved to walk towards his best friend, but stopped when Millhouse took a step back, the smile still planted on his young face.

"Millhouse?" Bart asked, confused.

A clawed, hairy monster's hand appeared from the shadows behind Millhouse and reached for the spectacled boy, it's arm just as grotesque.

"Millhouse!" Bart cried, eyes wide. "Watch out!"

But Millhouse just kept on smiling as the hand slowly gripped his upper, left arm and slowly started pulling him back into the shadows. Bart tried to move, tried to go help his friend, but found that his feet were frozen in place. At the last moment before Millhouse was entirely shadows, the blue-headed boy turned that calm smile towards the hidden monster…and then was gone.

Falling to his knees, Bart gasped for breath, his hair hanging over his eyes. But he was forced to stand up as the alley was suddenly filled to overflowing with tall people who didn't even seem to notice he was there. As if he were invisible, the people shoved against Bart and pushed past him, bustling to and fro until Bart could take their trampling no longer and let out a gut-wrenching scream at the pain of it all. The hundreds of faces suddenly turned to him, but not in concern or sympathy like Bart had expected, but in anger and frustration. They glared at him furiously as if Bart was the cause for all the evil and misgivings in the world before turning away from him again and continuing on like they had before Bart had vocalised himself. Turning in on himself and just allowing the trampling and loneliness, Bart felt tears well up in his eyes, blurring his vision and changing the scene before him.

Suddenly he was no longer in the alley but in a small, barren room. The ceiling was so low that Bart could only just stand upright, and the walls so close that he could only just extend his arms to their full length. The floor was cement, as was every other surface. Bart felt claustrophobic, like the air in the room was running out, like he would suffocate. He gasped loudly and clutched at his throat, his lungs screaming at him for oxygen. But before he could die, thousands of little slots opened up on each of the room's six surfaces, all only the size of ice cream sticks. Before Bart could properly enjoy the new, fresh air, knives were suddenly propelling out from the slots and slicing through the air. There was dark laughter before the knives sliced through skin…

Waking up to a scream, Bart thrashed and toppled off the softness of the couch onto the hard floor. Eyes wide, he quickly sat up and clutched at his heaving chest. _Just a dream…_ He thought to himself frantically as he scanned the normal-sized, knife-free room …_It was just a dream…_

Bart ran a hand over half his face and sat, sprawled on the floor with his blanket draped over him, trying to get his breathing under control again. "More like a fucking nightmare," he muttered darkly.

A clinking sound off to his left startled Bart and his gaze snapped towards it to see the front door being opened and Bob walking inside, his arms weighed down by several bags.

"Oh, afternoon, Bart," Bob said, closing the door behind him with his foot before moving towards the kitchen. "I'm sorry if I left you to wake up in a strange house all alone, but I wanted to go get some groceries. Something tells me you wouldn't be interested in eating the same types of food as me, and considering that's all I have-" He stopped as he finally looked at Bart.

The blonde was still panting, his eyes wide as he stared at Bob. _I'm alive…? He…he didn't kill me while I was asleep? _Bart's mind was racing.

"Bart, are you alright?" Bob asked, his expression confused and concerned as he dumped the groceries onto a kitchen counter and walked over to Bart.

Looking overwhelmed, Bart looked down at himself, half expecting to find blood or something. He looked back up at Bob, his eyes even wider than before, "Yes, I-I am!"

The ex-clown rose an eyebrow at Bart. "I see… and that's a cause of panic, because…?"

But the blonde boy wasn't listening; he was frowning thoughtfully now, trying to understand. All logic was pointing towards Bob telling the truth, towards Bob actually being honest when he told Bart he'd turned over a new leaf and wasn't going to try and kill him any more. But that couldn't be true!

"You're sweating…" Bob noticed. "Do you have a fever?" He reached a hand down to most likely feel Bart's temperature, but Bart flinched away.

"Y-you didn't kill me," Bart said breathlessly, overwhelmed from waking from such a vivid, nightmarish dream to then find that Bob hadn't killed him like he'd expected.

Pausing, Bob pulled his hand back, all concern and confusion gone. "Of course I didn't. I told you I wouldn't. Is that what's got you so flustered?"

"Well, not entirely," Bart confessed, manoeuvring himself back up onto the couch again.

When Bart didn't continue, Bob seemed to take the hint and walked back into the kitchen, dropping the subject. "Well, considering you're very much alive, you must be starving; you slept a full twenty or so hours. How you managed such a feat, though, I'll never know."

Deciding to deal with the fact he was still alive later, Bart stood from the couch and hissed as his entire body protested. His limbs ached and his lungs felt almost squashed, but his head felt the worst; it throbbed horribly. "Ugh. Why'd you let me sleep so long?" He complained, clutching at his head.

"I didn't want to intervene," Bob said, the sound of rustling bags and the fridge being opened and closed accompanying his rich voice. "If you slept soundly that entire time then your body needed it."

"Yeah well it's having regrets about it now." Bart sighed, following the ex-clown into the kitchen to sit on a barstool and watch him put away everything he'd brought.

"Headache?" Bob asked, not waiting for a reply before he smoothly got out a glass and filled it up under the cold water tap. "That's not surprising. You cried in your sleep."

"What?" Bart blinked and forced himself to ignore his embarrassed face, which was slowly heating up. He'd been caught. "I did not."

Bob smiled and placed the glass in front of Bart before pulling a packet of painkillers out of a draw and giving that to the boy also. "You did, not much though. I almost woke you up, but decided against it and went to the store instead. I hope you're not angry that I left you to your nightmare, but I think waking up to me shaking you would've just scared you."

Not hesitating to down four painkillers in one go, Bart sighed and nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But he remained silent.

"Anyway." Bob disposed of the bags and turned open the fridge so Bart could see its contents. "What would you like for lunch? I'll make you whatever you like, as long as we actually have the ingredients."

"Um…" Bart looked into the fridge, surprised when he saw just how full it was. His fridge at home was never as full as this one, particularly thanks to one bottomless pit of a man. But there was almost everything the boy could think of, all stacked up on the spotless glass shelves. "…Sandwiches would be fine."

With a nod and what Bart thought looked like a relieved expression at a healthy option, Bob started taking things from the twin-door fridge. "Anything in particular?"

Bart shook his head, but was quick to vocalise his answer when he realised Bob had his back to him and couldn't see him. "No, whatever is fine. As long as it isn't something weird and fancy."

"Plain and simple it is."

Ten minutes later and Bart was looking at a plate overflowing with assorted, triangular sandwiches, all of which looked very appetising. For sandwiches. He felt his stomach clench with hunger at the sight of food. "Wow," he murmured before taking a random one and biting into it. Ham salad.

Bob looked at the boy expectantly. "Any good?" he asked, leaning his forearms against the marble counter top.

Munching on the remains of his ham sandwich, Bart nodded vigorously and reached for another. Bob smiled, obviously pleased, before taking a bite out of the sandwich he'd made for himself.

~-~X~-~

Smoothing his fingers through the soapy, bubbly water that pooled around his thighs, Bart sighed contentedly and opened his eyes. Bob's bathroom was so much nicer than his own was at home; everything was white and clean and spacious. When the ex-clown had suggested Bart use his bathroom facilities, he'd at first been offended that Bob thought him dirty or smelly. But when the man had explained that he thought that a bath might relax him, Bart had brightened and was eager to comply. Sharing a bathroom with his two sisters, Bart couldn't for the life of him remember the last time he'd had a long, relaxing soak in the tub. But if he'd ever needed such a thing, now was the time.

Bart hummed to himself softly, one of his legs hanging out over the side of the bathtub and his back leaning against the wall. He rested his elbow on the ledge of the tub and allowed his fingers to trace circles in the bubbles, closing his eyes again. Bart never knew that something as simple as a bubble bath could make him feel like he was floating on a cloud.

A knock on the door made Bart open his eyes again. "Bart? Are you decent?"

"Yeah," Bart answered, not bothering to move and just looking up at the door as it was opened and the ex-clown stepped inside, carrying a pile of folded clothes.

Bob paused when he saw Bart, as if he was surprised that the boy was in the bath or something.

"…Yes?" Bart asked, too relaxed to move. Not even his attempted-murderer's presence could force him to move at that moment.

"Oh um..." Bob blinked and then seemed to be himself again. "I wanted to get your clothes so that I could wash them, and give you these." He slipped the clothes he'd been carrying onto the counter next to the sink and stooped to gather Bart's discarded ones.

"Somehow, I doubt your clothes would fit me," Bart said, moving only to push his damp, blonde hair out of his eyes.

"I'm certain they wouldn't," Bob said, not looking at the younger, wet male. "That's why I brought you your own whilst I was out this morning."

Bart's fingers paused from running through the water and he cocked an eyebrow. "You bought me clothes?"

"Only these." Bob gestured to the pile on the sink. "You don't have anything else to wear, and considering your house is being watched…" he trailed off, but not before Bart tensed and clenched an angry fist at not even being able to go get some clothes from his own house.

"So they're still there? At my house?" Bart asked, staring stonily at the diminishing bubbles that floated on the water before him.

"Well, I drove past to check…and it seems that they're keeping a constant surveillance on your house," Bob said before shifting his weight and then heading for the door. "Anyway, we'll talk about it when you've finished in here."

"I'm finished _now_," Bart said firmly, abruptly and unabashedly standing from the bath water to look at Bob's back expectantly, all traces of relaxation gone.

Stiffening, Bob stopped with a hand on the doorknob. "…If you actually think that I'll converse with you whilst you are naked, then you are seriously mistaken. There are towels to your left. I'll be in my office."

Bart watched as Bob left the room, being careful to have his back facing the naked boy at all times. With a huff, Bart grabbed a towel and dried himself off before draping it over his head and moving to look at the clothes that Bob had brought him. It filled him with a sense of morbid excitement to think that the criminal had bought him something. Anything. He was also immensely curious as to what _kind_ of clothes the man had picked for him.

Picking up and examining the garments, Bart found them to be extremely similar to the clothes he'd been wearing since yesterday morning. Simple blue jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Plus some pristine white socks and even a pair of jocks. Bart smirked at the latter and the awkwardness Bob must have felt when buying them.

Just as surprising as the fact they were so like his usual attire was that they fit him even better. There was nothing quite like the feel of putting on fresh clothes after having a cleansing bath. Bart had never felt so clean. So pure…

Twisting his upper body, Bart pulled on the tag of his shirt to see if the price tag was still attached, the idea of knowing how much Bob had spent on him was intriguing. There was no price, but Bart immediately recognised the brand that the tag claimed the article of clothing to be. Bob had brought him _expensive_, _branded_ clothing? Bart released the tag and frowned, not knowing quite what to feel or think at that. But, having more pressing issues to deal with, Bart reluctantly shrugged it off for now and left the bathroom to go find Bob after ripping the tags off carelessly.

Bart found the man exactly where he'd said he would be. After entering the room without knocking, Bart suddenly remembered his manners.

"Thanks for the clothes. Must've been awkward buying 'em for me." He smiled lightly, sitting in one of the comfortable-looking armchairs without invitation.

"You're welcome," Bob replied from his seat behind his corner desk, ignoring Bart's comment and setting down the book he must have been reading. "Now, about the matter at hand…I think you should contact your family; they must be worried."

Knowing his family intimately, Bart only half agreed. "I suppose I should. They probably think I'm at Millhouse's or something. Oh! Millhouse! I forgot about contacting him…!"

"He knows what's going on?" Bob asked.

"No…but he was with me when Mark confronted me. I sent him away before he heard anything, though…he probably thinks they're just bullies…or something," Bart said guiltily. "I haven't talked to or seen him since."

Bob nodded. "Well go ahead and call him, too, but make sure you get in contact with someone from your household so they know you're alright."

"Yes, but…What do I tell them…?" Bart asked quietly, looking worried. "I can't tell them I'm staying here with you because I was involved with a wanted, illegal circle of drug dealers and thieves who want to sell me!"

"No, I suppose not your family, but why not Millhouse?"

Bart frowned and shifted his gaze to the desk at witch Bob sat. "…Millhouse is my only friend. I don't want him to think-…to _know_ what kind of a person I really am. What I've done."

There was a pause as Bart glanced at Bob to see the older man watching him closely. The sympathy he saw there made Bart clench his jaw. He didn't want Sideshow Bob's pity, whether it was real or not.

"It is ultimately your decision, Bart," Bob said calmly, "But maybe you could tell your parents that you're staying with Millhouse whilst you're here? Of course then Millhouse would have to be in on it."

Sighing wearily, Bart nodded. "Right…

"Here," Bob said as he passed Bart his black cellphone.

"Why did you have my phone?" Bart asked suspiciously as he took it. "And how?"

Bob crossed his arms and gave Bart an empty glare. "I wasn't about to leave it in your pants pocket whilst I washed them now was I," he said.

"Oh…" Bart murmured. He'd completely forgotten about his phone, it being so slim and small. "You know, this is stolen," he added matter-of-factly.

"It's what?" Bob asked, surprised, his arms unfolding.

"Stolen," Bart answered easily, looking up from said phone calmly. "Mark gave it to me. Of course I didn't know it was stolen back then. It took me a while to figure it out."

"He gave you stolen items?"

"Sure. It was part of the initial attraction to their gang I suppose." Bart shrugged and leaned back in his chair, turning the cell over in his hand. "Free stuff."

"How much do you have?"

"Oh I threw everything else away…which wasn't easy, mind you. I'd never had cool stuff like that before. But I knew I couldn't keep it."

"What about the phone?" Bob pointed out, giving the little black gadget another look. It actually was pretty modern. "You kept that."

"Yeah, but I needed this," Bart explained. "Mark would've known if I'd thrown it away. It's the way he contacts me, after all."

The older male raised an eyebrow. "It is?" He looked down at it once more. "Has he been trying to reach you?"  
>Bart gave a half shrug. "Dunno, I turned it off days ago- sometime after I lost the package, and haven't turned it on again. But I suppose I'll find out in a minute…"<p>

"I'll leave you to it then?" Bob suggested as he pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. "Remember though, Bart, that this is your life you're dealing with…"

"I know, I know…" Bart muttered, gazing down at the power button on his phone.

With a hesitant nod, Bob walked from the room and closed the door behind him, giving Bart some privacy. The eldest Simpson was grateful for Bob making himself scarce. This wasn't something he wanted the red-headed, attempted murderer to be listening to.

After pressing the 'on' button, Bart watched the cell buzz to life, his familiar background picture lighting up the screen. There was only a pause of a couple of seconds before notifications were suddenly popping up on his screen like mad.

2 missed calls from Mark.

11 messages from Mark.

5 missed calls from Millhouse.

21 messages from Millhouse.

...

Bart immediately felt sick and guilty. Leaving the messages from Mark for now, he opened Millhouse's and read them. They were mostly worried messages, asking were he was and why he wasn't replying/picking up the phone, but they still touched Bart. His guilt doubled.

After punching in the memorised digits that made up Millhouse's cell number, Bart held it up to his ear and waited. It didn't take long before he heard Millhouse's voice.

"Bart?" Millhouse cried.

"Hey, Millhouse…"

"Bart, where have you been?" Millhouse demanded, "I've been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday morning, after that scene in the car park."

Bart sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his closed eyes with his free hand. "Millhouse…I'm in a bit of trouble again."

"Trouble? Jeez...what kind of trouble is it this time?"

"You'd better sit down for this one."

~-~X~-~

Bob sipped from his tea mug as he sat in his old armchair, absent-mindedly picking at a small fray in the fabric that resided under his fingertips in the arm of the chair. The chair wasn't worn, rather than in an older style, and looked a little like a queen chair. Bob favoured it to rest his weary body in, but his restless mind would not let him rest much, reeling all through recent present and even future events- most all of which involved the blond youth upstairs. He plotted the eldest Simpson child's fateful demise, planned his stories and his excuses, even what he might choose as the "natural" cause of death. It filled him with both a tremendous darkness and a beautiful lightness, and he couldn't decide what each represented. But by the time Bart was finished with his call and had descended the stairs, Bob was in such an intense and disturbing place; he didn't notice him until the boy sighed audibly.

"There. I told him," Bart said gloomily. It took Bob a moment for those words to sink in and compute, still shaking off the darkness that had enveloped him from his previous thoughts.

Bob took another sip of his tea before setting it down, "How did he take it? How is he?"

Bart shrugged, "As well as you can expect a guy whose best and only friend just told him he's a hardened criminal and is wanted by fucking crazy gangsters," he ground out, gritting his teeth and plopping down onto the couch opposite Bob.

"I know this is all very hard and trying on you, Bart…" Bob began, being tentative and cautious. "And you think that Millhouse will…judge you. But I do not think that he will. If you are as good of friends as I think you are, this will not affect your friendship."

"You didn't hear him on the phone…" Bart murmured, staring at the floor. He sounded all but defeated.

"I'm sure he's just shocked and worried for you."

The boy didn't reply this time, but looked as though he'd not heard a word of Bob's comforting. After a few minutes of silence between the two, during which Bob felt a little uncomfortable, Bart looked up at the older male with a weak smile.

"Thanks…Bob."

To say Bob was floored by those two words once again would be an understatement. The redhead had never thought in a million years he'd hear those words from Bart, no matter what he could ever do or say. But here he was, hearing them (and not for the first time!) and watching the speaker smile at him whilst doing so. It was a bit mind numbing. He was about to reply when there was a loud and precise knock at the front door.

Bart's head whipped around to the wooden door, his eyes wide and fear quickly beginning to leak into their blueness. Bob sat still for a moment, ignoring the frantic glance from the minor in the room and just listening.

Another set of knocks came, this time louder. Bob stood up from his chair and motioned for Bart to be silent with a finger up to his lips. The blonde nodded and tried to quiet his erratic breathing before Bob ushered him into the next room. There were more knocks and Bob quickly glanced around the room to make sure it looked normal before striding over to the door and opening it.

"Hello?"


	5. Spanners

Spanners.

_Sorry about my lack of regular updates and whatnot, but I've just been through a lot. A whirlwind romance, an interstate (and over-water) move. Actually, several moves... But not to worry, I'm back to my broody, hermit self._

_There's lots of dialogue in this one. Also, it's unbeted, as usual, and also unedited (I'm lazy).  
><em>

* * *

><p>"<em>Two's company, three's a crowd." -Proverb<em>

Mentally, Bob breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't even recognise the man at his threshold, and it certainly wasn't one of Mark's gang members. The man was about Bob's age with dark hair. He wore middle-class type of clothes- an example being a button down shirt.

"Can I help you?" Bob asked.

"Afternoon. I'm looking for a Robert Terwilliger. Are you him?" the man asked calmly, levelly.

"Who's asking?" Bob asked. He was a little suspicious and apparently it showed on his face because the stranger smiled briefly.

"Of course, so sorry, my name's Eric Harris."

"Well then, Eric, yes, I am he. What do you want?" Bob asked, his suspicion half replaced with plain confusion.

The man's demeanour changed. His expression grew steely and Bob could have sworn he grew a couple of extra centimetres in height.

"I see. Now for question number two," Eric said. He was the one looking suspicious now, much to Bob's puzzlement. "Is Bartholomew J. Simpson in your house?"

The attempted murderer blinked several times. "What…? How…?" He gathered himself together before narrowing his eyes at the man. "Now look here-"

"No, _you_ look here," Eric growled, pointing an accusing finger at Bob. "If you're keeping that boy here against his will, you're in huge trouble. His parents know he's missing and you're my number one suspect, buddy."

Bob was gaping at the man a little. "…Who _are_ you?" he demanded, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at the man. "You certainly don't look like a police officer?"  
>Before Eric could reply, a younger voice joined in on the conversation. "No, he's not a cop," Bart stated confidentially.<p>

"B-Bar-…!" Bob stuttered, his arms going slack and his mouth dropping open as he turned to look at the boy who was _supposed_ to be hiding. "I thought I told you to stay in the sitting room?"

"It's okay, Bob, that's my headmaster," Bart said without looking away from Eric. The youth's stoic expression didn't even make the dark-headed man blink. "And it's alright, Sir, I'm here of my own free will."

"Bart. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Eric bent down a little to look Bart over, both relief and concern etched onto his features at once.

"I'm fine, Mr. Harris," Bart assured, giving him a forced smile, "really."

Straightening back up, Eric frowned lightly. "I don't understand. Bart, why are you here? Do you realise who this is?" he asked, pointing to the still-puzzled Bob.

"Of course I do, he's Sideshow Bob," Bart said with a small scoff. "I wouldn't be staying with someone I didn't know."

"He's also your attempted murderer of several occasions!" Eric exclaimed, throwing his hands up to emphasise his words.

"I know."

"You know?" Eric's frown deepened drastically and his hands dropped to his sides. His voice dropped, too. "Bart…what are you doing staying under the same roof as this criminal? What are you thinking?"

Bob had been staying quiet through all this, but now he sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

"Excuse me," Bob interrupted loudly, "As much as I am enjoying listening to you two talk about me as if I were not present, I think you should come inside, Mr. Harris. It's apparent that you need filling in, now." He shot a pointed look at Bart before opening the door wider so the man could step inside.

Eric stared at Bob a moment before he strode past him and took a stiff seat on the couch inside. "I think that's an excellent idea, Mr. Terwilliger."

"Wait, you can't tell him," Bart protested, looking up at Bob pleadingly as the redhead shut the door behind him. "He's my headmaster!"

"It's unavoidable, now, Bart," Bob sighed. He shook his head and moved to take the furthest seat away from Eric. He didn't know why, but he was rather pleased when Bart chose to sit closer to Bob than his headmaster.

"First things first, though, Mr. Harris?"

The dark-headed man shifted his gaze from the boy to Bob, his eyes questioning.

Bob leaned back in his armchair and laced his fingers together. "How did you know Bart was here? Why did you think Bart was missing? And lastly, why was I your 'number one suspect'?"

"Right, well I knew Bart was here because after he rang you in my office on Friday morning, I hit redial and got your answering machine," Eric said easily. He glanced at Bart's sheepish face and smiled before continuing. "So I had your full name from that, and it was easy enough to just look you up in a phone book; not too many people have your name, you know."

"...Certainly," Bob said lowly, irritated by this man somehow. "Next question?"

"How did I know Bart wasn't at home and was in fact missing? I went to the Simpson household and asked for him."

Bart's eyes widened and he shot out of the old armchair he'd been sitting in. "You did?!"

Eric watched Bart before nodding. "I did. At first they thought you were in trouble, but when I told them you were not, they said you were at Millhouse's, and to leave them alone. Apparently I was interrupting T.V time."

Bart scowled, not at Eric but at the floor. He sat back down with no coaxing. "Were the _bullies_ outside my house?"

Eric frowned. "The ones from the school car park? Well, no, but there was a black car parked outside your house with some other youths in it."

The blond sighed, nodded, and turned his face away from the two men in the room.

Bob cleared his throat to gain Eric's attention again. "Why didn't you believe Bart was at Millhouse's?"

With a shrug, Eric focused his apparently unwanted attention back to Bob. "Millhouse was at school all day. Plus the fact that it was your number Bart dialled last from my phone, not anyone from Millhouse's household."

Nodding in an understanding way, Bob glanced at Bart's empty expression before looking back at Eric. "I suppose all that answers why you suspected me." He sighed wearily. "Now what?"

Eric shrugged again. "Why don't you tell me _your_ story now?" he suggested evenly. "I would just love to know what the hell is going on."

~-~-X-~-~

"And that's when I offered for Bart to come stay with me until all this is dealt with." Bob finished the long-winded story with a tilt of his head. "We're not a hundred percent sure how to mend the situation yet, but we'll figure something out."

Not wanting to listen to the story after having to repeat it only recently to Millhouse, Bart had wandered into the kitchen to get himself a snack, even though he wasn't hungry.

"I can't believe Bart is involved with such a thing," Eric murmured, looking at the carpeted floor before his feet, his hands locked together.

Bob shrugged and leaned further back into his seat. "It's not like he's a saint."

Eric looked up at bob and frowned. "Bart's a good boy, and it's not like you can talk," he all but scoffed.

Narrowing his eyes, Bob crossed his legs defensively. "I have another question for you, Mr. Harris, if you don't mind indulging me." He continued before receiving a response. "Bart may be one of your students, but once he steps outside the boundaries of Springfield High he is no longer a duty of yours. Why go to such extremes on your own time like this?"

"Well I guess that satisfies my curiosity as to whether or not you have an ounce of compassion in you. I suppose a careless criminal like you wouldn't understand a selfless and caring act when you saw it." Eric spoke down to Bob.

"That's not what I meant," Bob snapped. "I asked _why _you care so much."

"It's not a crime to care." Eric shot Bob a pointed look before looking away again. "But it is to try and kill little boys."

"Little boy," Bob said.

"What?"

"You said little _boys_ when I only ever tried to kill _a _boy."

Looking disgusted, Eric rose to his feet. "Oh yes! Because that makes it so much better!"

For some reason, this Eric Harris _really_ got on Bob's nerves. He didn't know whether it was the way he patronisingly judged him, the way he looked, spoke, or something else entirely. All Bob knew, though, was that he wanted this man to go away, now, before Bob did or said something he regretted.

"Look here, Mr. Harris," Bob said relatively calmly as he motioned for the man to sit back down. He noticed Bart walking back into the room, probably because of the rise in voices. "As I only just got through telling you in my recounting of events, I've realised the error in my ways and have turned over a new leaf. I no longer have those issues plaguing me."

"_Maybe_ so," Eric said suspiciously, "but, still, you can't erase what you've done with a few pretty words. True or not."

Nodding understandingly, Bob agreed, "Yes. But you are the last person I need validation from." He glanced at Bart, but quickly looked back at the headmaster before him.

Eric, still frowning, looked at Bart, too, in what looked like a last effort. "Bart? Have you forgiven Bob for what he did to you in the past? Do you trust him?"

Bob inwardly groaned. This was the worst possible time to have someone being the voice of reason for Bart. Someone intelligent, mature, and someone Bart knew, no less. Bob knew Bart did not trust him yet, and he certainly didn't forgive him. So what would the blond youth say? Do?

Bart looked surprised at the question. He dropped the potato chip he'd been about to place in his mouth back into the packet and looked from Eric to Bob. His gaze was unfathomable, and he created the obvious tension in the air when he took his time answering.

His demeanour changed suddenly and he reached into his packet and ate the dropped chip before looking at Eric again and answering. "As much as is needed."

Sighing, deflated, Eric shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Well, Bart, you are your own person. If you trust this...man, then I'll...tolerate that. So long as you are unharmed."

Bart nodded but didn't say anything, he just ate some more chips, looking slightly uninterested. Bob wondered whether he was losing hope, whether this was all too much for the boy to absorb.

"Bart," Eric turned to the youngest in the room. "I would like to help you. If you need a witness, an ear, or even a shoulder, just call me," he said kindly, with a small amount of mirth.

"You're going to give me your number?" Bart asked incredulously, "I'm getting a few of those lately," he said jokingly and with a hint of a smile.

Eric smiled also and riddled off his number so Bart could lock it into his phone. "Now I'd like yours."

There was a moment in which Bart looked confused, but then he proceeded to tell his headmaster his mobile phone number whilst Bob looked on in distaste.

"If that's all-" Bob began, but was interrupted.

"Actually, there's one more thing I'd like to propose," Eric cut Bob off without looking at the redhead. "Bart, I see no reason for you not to go back to school tomorrow."

"...You're kidding, right?" Bart dead-panned, looking almost hopeful that his headmaster was in fact joking and didn't just suggest something so stupid.

Smiling now, Eric shook his head. "No, no, you need your education. Who knows how long this will go on for, and how many days or weeks of school you might miss. You might have to repeat the year."

Bart paled. "But, surely, you could, _would_..."

"Oh no, I wouldn't," Eric laughed good-naturedly. "Look, the only problem with you going to school is being seen by Mark or one of his posse, right?"

Bart nodded.

"Well why don't I come by every morning and drive you to school? The staff car park is behind the administration office- you wouldn't be seen getting in or out of my car, and I have tinted windows, too..."

Bart looked almost disappointed.

"Are you saying you want to drive here every week morning before school, pick Bart up, drive him to school, then at the end of the day drive him back here, then go back home yourself? Won't your family wonder why you're leaving early and coming home late?" Bob asked, crossing his arms, and to be honest, clutching at straws. He had a bad feeling.

Eric glanced at Bob. "I don't have a family. My wife and daughter died four years ago."

A silence filled the room and Bob immediately felt terribly guilty, yet at the same time irritated that he couldn't hate this man for no reason, especially now.

"Geez. I'm sorry, Mr. Harris," Bart said, and it looked and sounded like he truly meant it.

Eric smiled down at Bart. "I know you are, and thank you. Anyway, yes, that's what I'm suggesting."

Sighing, Bart shrugged. "Fine, I'll do it. But don't be hatin' if I decide I don't feel like school one day. Or two."

"I'll drive Bart home," Bob announced abruptly and before Eric could speak.

"You mean back here," Bart said, looking up at Bob with a raised eyebrow. "This isn't my home."

"Right." Bob mentally smacked himself. He was making a fool of himself, and his only clue as to why was this strange man. "But I would like you to make yourself at home here, and even to think of it as a temporary home for now."

Shrugging, Bart looked away and didn't answer.

A moment passed in which no one seemed to quite know what to say next. Eric throwing himself into the mix had thrown everyone, including himself, off balance.

"Well I suppose that's all I have to say then." Eric smiled politely at Bart and Bob, before heading towards the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some papers to look over back at home."

"Of course," Bob said as he moved to open the door for their 'guest'.

"See'ya," Bart offered with a wave, not moving to see the man out. He slumped down onto a chair and continued with his chips, a thoughtful, yet shadowy expression on his features.

Alone with the redhead at the door, Eric walked into Bob's personal space, his face firm, dark.

"I'll be coming here almost every day now, and I'll also be talking to Bart via phone. So I'll know if you so much as pinch that boy. If something does happen to him, you're going straight to prison. And I'll make sure you never get out again."

With that said quietly yet strongly, Eric turned his back on a startled Bob and walked out the door.

There. There was that usual spanner that someone just _had_ to throw into the works of his plans. It had thrown itself in, and it's name was Eric Harris.

* * *

><p><em>So guys, tell me what you think . Did anyone expect that? Any particular characters you'd like me to use? I'd love to hear your thoughts, even if it's just telling me I'm a garbage writer and to point out all my mistakes. J-DOL out. <em>

_Reviews are appreciated.  
><em>


	6. Burnt Fire

Burnt Fire.

_Wow. I'm sorry about how long it takes me to update this sometimes. I found detrimental plot-holes and had to rethink/rewrite a _lot_. _

_Thanks for the reviews, by the way, they're all awesome._

_I wonder if I should get a beta... I probably should; my editing sucks. -J-DOL. _

"_Men trust their ears less than their eyes". -Herodotus _

Bob smiled just a little too nicely when he invited Eric into his house on Monday morning, bright and early.

Inside, standing near the door, Eric waited a few minutes before looking at his watch. He looked over at the redhead as he stirred his spoon delicately in a pristine white mug of black coffee.

"Where's Bart?"

Another smile. "Bart? I honestly don't know."

Frowning at Bob, Eric crossed his arms. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

"Now, Mr. Harris." Bob set his spoon down, his pleasant smile still in place. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Eric sighed in frustration and uncrossed his arms, apparently recognising the fact that he wasn't going to get anywhere with Bob fast. "Just tell me where he's sleeping so I can go find him."

Bob's smile slowly and discreetly dropped. "Look, I'll go get him, I'm sure he's just still asleep or something," he said, leaving his mug of steaming coffee in favour of walking towards the staircase. But he found the headmaster tailing him anyway.

He walked stiffly to the door to his spare room and knocked upon it twice. "Bart?"

There was a muffled reply, but nothing exactly coherent, so, after looking back at Eric who rose his eyebrows and nodded impatiently towards the door, Bob opened it.

The curtains were still drawn, thin lines of luminous light framing them, but the two men's eyes were drawn instantly towards the extremely messy double bed and the teen that was entwined within the sheets. Bare legs and arms and blond hair was all they could see.

Bob strode over to the window and pulled the curtains aside, letting the light flood into the room and making Bart groan irritatedly.

"Heeey, stop it," Bart sighed, pulling the blanket tighter over his head.

"Get up, Bart," Bob said firmly, his tall frame blocking some of the light from splaying over Bart's chest. His curly hair made a shadow of a picture on the teen's flawlessly youthful skin.

"No."

"Yes."

When Bart didn't reply and didn't move again, Eric stepped closer to the bed and looked down at his student. "Bart?"

There was no movement for a half a minute before Bart peered out from under his blanket, eyes blinking and with sleep. "Mr. Harris? What the...?"

"You slept in," Bob interrupted, watching Eric smile at the blond. "You have to get up now or else you'll make Mr. Harris late."

Sighing and rubbing his eyes, Bart sat up to reveal his bare stomach.

Eric's gaze snapped to Bob before he looked at the door. "I'll be waiting in the living room. Please don't take too long," he said, already on his way.

Blinking after Eric, Bart paused before yawning. He then looked at Bob, who was still standing before the window. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get up."

Making a face at Bob, Bart let himself fall backwards and sighed loudly when he hit the mattress. It was quiet then as the redhead walked around the bed and looked down at the blond, much like Eric had.

It was strange. There was a peacefulness that Bob couldn't describe when he focused on the boy's resting face, eyes gently closed. Nothing made sense in that moment. Not his goals, his morals, his wants, his ideals, nothing.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Snapping out of his daze, Bob focused back on the blond who was still in bed, his blue eyes staring up at Bob with amusement, a little smirk in place.

Bob's face firmed and his body tensed. "If you're awake enough to make such a nit-witted jest, then you're conscious enough to _get up_."

"So tense, Bob, so tense," Bart smiled, and it was relaxed and carefree. Bob found himself easing up a little; the boy's smile was nice, it was pleasant- as much as he disliked to admit it.

"You're going to be late," Bob said matter-of-factually.

The blond shrugged.

"You'll make Eric late."

He paused this time before shrugging again. "His fault for making me go to school," he smiled cheekily- no, innocently-no...- Bob couldn't understand how Bart did that.

Pursing his lips and shifting his weight, Bob crossed his arms again. But he couldn't help the enjoyment he received from Bart expressing such a casual attitude towards his headmaster. If only because he, himself, disliked the man, and because the less Bart respected and/or liked him, the better for Bob and his plans.

Bart rolled his eyes and sighed. He pushed his sheets and blankets aside and clambered out of bed, only wearing a pair of boxers that Bob himself had bought for him. "I hate school," he murmured.

"Why?" Bob found himself asking, his eyes trained on the mess of linen left behind.

"You're kidding, right?" Bart scoffed, moving to the pile of clothes on the dresser that Bob had purchased and left folded and neatly waiting for him.

"If you haven't noticed, that's not exactly something I really do."

"Well, if _you_ haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the smartest kid ever," Bart said as he rifled through the pile of clothing, messing half of it up as he searched for something to wear. "So school was never really my forte- never really my favourite place in the world."

"I believe you are smarter than you give yourself credit for. Definitely no genius- but who is these days," Bob said nonchalantly, his eyes looking anywhere but Bart.

"My sister..." Bart murmured, his posture slightly hunched. But then he straightened and he looked over his shoulder with a small smile. Another false one. "But thanks, Bob, I didn't know you care."

It was obvious that he was being sarcastic, covering up his previous comment with humour. Humour. It seemed to be Bart's defensive mechanism. Or at least one of them.

"I'll see you in the kitchen," Bob said dismissively. He didn't want to continue that conversation. He didn't believe Bart was stupid, but he didn't think he could manage much more than what he'd already pulled off. Complementing the boy? What has the world come to?

Bart didn't reply- either that or Bob didn't give him enough of an opportunity to do so before he swiftly exited the room, finding it suffocating.

Bob found Eric seated on the couch, leaning forward, hands clasped together. There was something black grasped between his hands.

Ignoring it, Bob started pulling out some things from the kitchen cupboards and the fridge; a bowl, milk, cereal, a banana.

"Is he getting up?" Eric asked, sounding surprisingly patient.

"Yes. He'll be out in a minute." Silence ensued as Bob sliced the banana over the bowl of cereal.

Bart suddenly was in the room, hair wet (he must have taken the quickest shower in history) and clean, and donning well-fitting clothes."Sorry for making you wait," he said, "I'm not really much of a morning person."

"I can tell." Eric smiled. "You ready to go now?" Bart nodded.

"Wait." Bob placed a spoon in the bowl and pushed it forward on the tabletop. "Breakfast."

Eric glanced at his watch. Bart gave Bob a look, but ultimately walked up and sat on a stool to eat the food.

Bob smiled inwardly at the look on Eric's face; he was going to be _so_ late.

"And here." Bob placed a plastic container on the table next to the bowl. The visible contents included a wrapped sandwich and a piece of fruit.

Bart choked on his cereal a little, then gave Bob an even stranger look than before. "You made me a packed lunch?"

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Well, no, it's just...weird," Bart said slowly.

"Weird how?" Bob asked. Was he trying too hard?

Leaning back, Bart shrugged. "Only my mom has ever done that before. It's just weird."

"Well, I can't starve you."

Bart grinned. "I'm sure you could."

Eric interrupted, walked up beside Bart. "I'm sorry but do you think we could go, Bart? We're fairly late."

"Sure," Bart said, taking one more mouthful of cereal before slipping down from the stool and reaching back for his lunch, sending a 'thank you smile' at Bob before following Eric.

They left and Bob cleaned up before heading up to his office. He sat down in his comfortable chair and spun around to face the desk, reaching out to switch his computer on.

Bob was sure that Mark and his posse would probably be fine with leaving Bart alone if he gave them a nice sum of money, the same amount, if not more, that they would get from 'selling' Bart, all without the hassle. But that would be counter-productive for Bob, and so would be stupid. Bob had no intentions of fixing Bart's situation for him, not any time soon, anyway. If he did, Bart would move back home and he would never see the boy again- never be able to accomplish his goals.

Bob opened up an internet browser, and then a search engine, and typed in some key words like Mark, criminal, America, gang, investigation.

Research was key.

~-~X~-~

Bart glanced over at Eric from the passenger seat of the headmaster's car. He looked as he usually did- calm and composed. It was strange, riding in the headmaster's car. Bart had never been in such an enclosed space with him before.

Eric had always been very fair to Bart, and was probably the only reason he was still allowed to continue his education at Springfield High.

"Thanks for this, Mr. Harris," he offered, feeling obliged.

"You can call me Eric out of school, Bart," Eric said without looking away from the road ahead. A smile appeared at the corners of his lips, though.

Bart made a face. "That'd be weird."

Eric laughed. "No it wouldn't. Just try it," he encouraged.

Looking at the road ahead, Bart shifted his weight in his seat. "Fine. Eric."

"See, not so hard."

Humorously rolling his eyes, Bart smiled a little also. "You gonna put some music on?" he asked seriously.

"Music? I don't usually listen to the radio, but you can turn it on if you'd like."

The blond did so, turning it to the radio station with the most up-to-date music and leaned back in his seat. "You've got a nice stereo."

Eric laughed again. "Well, gee, thank you."

Bart suddenly frowned and turned it to Eric suspiciously. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he demanded abruptly. "Why are you so happy?"

Blinking, Eric sent Bart a quick glance. He looked confused. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You just found out that your student, the one you've defended through the numerous times your teachers demanded an expulsion, is involved in criminal acts, and you're just so...nice and happy. I don't get it."

Pursing his lips, Eric frowned at the road. "Would you rather me be upset with you? I'm not your father, Bart, and anyway, we all make mistakes, I don't like you any less because of a mistake you made."

Still furrowing his brows, Bart stared at Eric. No one had that attitude with him any more- at least he hadn't thought any one did. "You're confusing, Eric."

Eric shrugged and smiled softly. "You're not."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not confusing. You're fairly easy to read; you just want to connect," Eric said.

Bart raised one single brow. "...What are you _on_?"

Chuckling, Eric looked as if he wanted to glance at Bart again but needed to watch the road. "I'm being serious."

"You're being weird."

"Sorry, Bart," Eric apologised, but still continued to smile knowingly.

Mentally, Bart was reeling. Why did his headmaster seem to think he understood him? It only brought up more questions, slightly older questions, about Bob's motives. Why were these two men helping him so selflessly? If Bart wasn't dealing with so much besides the two 'new' men in his life, he probably would be more concerned with them. It irritated him a little- Mr. Harris' assumptions irritated him.

The school loomed into view and Bart shrunk in his seat upon seeing some guys he recognised from Mark's gang loitering around. But Eric's car had heavily tinted windows, so there really was no need. Eric merely drove straight through the car park to the reserved spaces for the teachers behind the administration office.

"Now, Bart, there's a few things I need to remind you of before I let you go," Eric said after he had parked his car in the spot reserved especially for him. "You should not leave the building until after school has finished and Bob is waiting for you, not even for lunch."  
>Bart didn't protest.<p>

"Secondly, I don't think you should tell anyone what has happened," Eric said.

"Millhouse knows, but I won't tell anyone else."

Eric cocked his head a little. "Will he keep it a secret?"

Nodding, Bart unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed the lunch Bob had made him.

"Okay then, good." Eric grabbed his sleek, black briefcase and unlocked the doors. "If you need anything, just come see me. Oh and here's a note explaining why you're late. It says I had you in my office because of an incident."

Still nodding, Bart accepted the note and gave Eric an impatient look, his hand resting on the handle of the door. Eric smiled at him.

"Okay then. I'll see you later, then, or maybe tomorrow."

"Cya." Bart waved over his shoulder and exited the car. The morning breeze hit the back of his head and blew through his blond hair. It was a nice day, sunny with a breeze. Pulling out his phone, Bart walked towards the administration office behind Eric, knowing it was a safe way to enter without exposing himself to the front of the school and the car park where he knew people were looking for him.

Once inside, Eric ruffled Bart's hair with a smirk before he turned right and headed for his office, leaving Bart to go left towards the classrooms, not bothering about his messed-up hair. He sent Millhouse a text telling him he was at school today and waited for a reply. Just as he was slipping the phone back into his new jeans did it vibrate. Surprised, as Millhouse usually took a little while to respond to a text, he pulled it back out again.

But it was from Eric.

_From: Eric Harris_

_Meet me before school gets out, in my office. Study hard :)_

Looking behind himself on instinct, Bart found the corridor empty (they were late). Bart glanced at the message again and sighed, feeling a little pathetic, and headed for class without replying.

Towards the end of first period, Bart received a reply from Millhouse.

_From: Millhouse_

_Hey Bart! Oh you should have told me sooner. I skipped today. I would have come though if you'd told me you were coming!_

Sighing for the umpteenth time since being at school, Bart put his phone away and folded his arms. No doubt Millhouse was wagging to spend time with his boyfriend. That was the only reason he would willingly miss a day of school. Bart found himself wondering what it must feel like to have someone whom spending time with was more important than something like school was for Millhouse.

Bart spent the day mostly by himself, but he hardly cared, his mind was too preoccupied for him to have been much company anyway. Nelson talked to him, though, after he tried unsuccessfully to hit him up for some cash. Nelson was still intimidating and had grown upwards quite quickly entering high school. He had moved into his own place- a small apartment in a bad area, as Bart had been told on the school grape vine. Although Bart didn't know if it were true or not, he figured Nelson must have obtained a part-time job to cover his expenses.

"Then are you gonna eat that?"

Looking down at the sandwich Bob had made for him and wrapped in cling wrap, Bart hardly even had to consider the question. His appetite wasn't what it used to be. He shook his head and passed it over to the brunette.

"Cheers," Nelson said with a nod and took the offered food. "I'm not so good with the whole 'packed lunch' thing."

Bart watched Nelson unwrap it carefully. Nelson probably thought Bart's mom had made it. That thought forced the vision of his mother into his mind, and then his sisters and then his dad. He wondered if they were thinking about him- worried about him. But no, they thought he was staying at Millhouse's, and Bart had stayed at Millhouse's for weeks before, when he couldn't handle his family and needed a break. They probably just thought he was being insubordinate. Bart wondered how long this fiasco would last, and how long he would have to stay at Bob's. If it was for too long, he'd have to call his parents and lie or something about where he was.

"This is even better than usual. Mrs. Simpson has outdone herself," Nelson commented casually.

"You don't have to call her that."

"I know."

Bart pulled out his phone and fiddled with it, his backside getting sore from sitting on the cold step that led from gym to maths, which was the worse set-up ever.

"Hey, I don't have your number; give it to me," Nelson said from his position beside Bart on the steps, his back leaning against the railing. He was eyeing Bart's phone.

Seeing no reason not to, Bart pulled up his details and handed Nelson his phone so Nelson could copy his number into his own crappy old phone. Bart's mind was wandering again; he couldn't stop it, it wouldn't stay away from all his troubles.

"Hello, anyone home?"

Bart started and looked at the phone being dangled in front of his face. He took it sheepishly and tucked it into his jeans pocket.

"Did you hear anything I just said to you?" Nelson leaned away from him and raised an eyebrow, receiving only a brief glance.

Both eyebrows raised now, Nelson shrugged and after a mellow pause pulled out a cigarette and a lighter with a smiley face on it and lit it up.

Face in palms and elbows on knees, Bart frowned at Nelson. "You'll set off the fire alarms," he warned flatly.

"Nah, they're not that sensitive," Nelson said without looking at Bart and took a drag from the long, white stick and offered it to Bart who didn't hesitate to take it. He didn't know whether it was the soft roll between his fingers or the smoke that slid down his throat, but it calmed him down a bit. They passed it back and forth a few times before a sudden and startlingly loud sound blared around them.

Nelson laughed and jumped to his feet, dropping the cigarette and stomping on it before stashing it in his pocket and glancing down at Bart whom was still surprised. "C'mon, Simpson, there's a fire in the school!"

Realisation dawning on him, Bart grinned at Nelson's smiling face and followed him at a jog. Students were filing out of classrooms where they'd been engaging in clubs and lunchtime activities or even just eating lunch inside, and a few teachers were shouting to be heard above the racket of both the kids and the siren.

"Everyone form single lines and _walk_ not _run_ to the nearest exit, please! This is not a drill!" a nearby teacher requested, gesturing down the hall. Most of the kids were calm and even annoyed, but some were freaking out and clutching their bag and lunch and staring around with wide eyes.

Nelson nudged Bart in the arm and nodded with his head at one kid who was crying hysterically and Bart had to muffle his laughter with his hand. They all shuffled outside into the furthest basketball court from the school and stood around whilst the fire brigade arrived at the school. Bart almost felt guilty. Almost.

Suddenly his phone vibrated and he pulled it out and unlocked it.

_From: Eric Harris_

_Bart, are you okay? Where are you? You didn't go outside, did you?_

Frowning in confusion, it only took Bart a second or two to realise what Eric meant. The blood ran from his face and his head snapped up to look around frantically. But he couldn't see anything past all the students. His phone vibrated again but Bart was too preoccupied to look at it again. He pushed past a few students and looked out towards the school and gawked when he noticed the student car park was clearly visible from the basketball court. Not to mention the small group of interested youths who definitely didn't attend the school, craning their necks to see all of the students.

Breathing faster, Bart backed back into the large crowd and frantically looked around for his next move. Once the firemen declared the school safe again, the students would file back into the building, much more orderly and calmly, too, which meant he was sure to be spotted. He didn't put it past Mark and his gang to enter the school looking for him, either, if they spotted him.

"What are you doing? You know there's no fire." Nelson's voice came from beside him and Bart looked up at him.

"I- I can't go back in there," he stuttered, unsure of himself.

Nelson stared at Bart for a moment before he shrugged and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "You want to leave?"

"And go where?" Bart asked. He didn't know the way to Bob's house, and even if he did he couldn't take Nelson there.

"You can come back to my place and have a cigarette," Nelson suggested, looking like he really didn't care if Bart said yes or no. "I have some video games."

"Is it far?"

Nelson shook his head and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards the back of the school and beyond. "It's not far that-a way."

It was the opposite direction from the school car park, and not only did Bart really not want to risk being spotted by those scary young men, but he also really wanted a cigarette or two. Or three. Giving in to his impulses, Bart nodded.

"Sure, lets go."


	7. Distractions

Distractions.

* * *

><p><em>"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend." -Albert Campus<em>

Bob was a little worried. He drove towards Springfield high, his focus less on the road than it probably should have been. He didn't know why he was worried; surely nothing that could happen at Bart's school could ruin anything. His plans were based on Bart's loneliness, which school hadn't changed before Bob came along. So, surely, everything would be alright when he picked Bart up.

He drove around the administration office and parked as close to the doors of the building as he could manage, and then he waited. It was five past three, so Bart shouldn't be long, he figured. With nothing else to do, Bob found himself staring at the building doors. Some teachers exited and entered, some kids, too, but none of them were Bart. When it struck half-past, Bob frowned in annoyance, got out of his car and entered the building.

Inside, the school was quiet, with most of the students already gone home. Bob spotted the principals office and marched over to it, but before he reached it he witnessed Eric exiting via the door. The Headmaster spotted him and Bob immediately noticed Eric's concerned expression as the man beckoned him to follow before retreating back into his office again.

With a growing headache, Bob followed him and closed the door behind himself firmly.

"What happened? Bob asked darkly.

Eric sat in his chair and didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. "I don't know, exactly."

"Please explain. And be specific."

"The fire alarm went off, and everyone assembled outside, as routine, but I don't know what happened to Bart. I couldn't find him, and he's not answering his phone," Eric said. He pushed back his dark hair and leaned back in his seat. He looked extremely frazzled.

Bob crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "You lost him."

Eric frowned at Bob. "I didn't lose him. I wasn't supposed to be watching him- I couldn't!"

Rolling his eyes, Bob didn't respond to that and instead went on to look thoughtful. "Do you think he's still in the school?" he asked.

Eric shook his head. "I called him up to the office over the P.A. and unless he's hiding, a teacher would have sent him up. And I mean, why wouldn't he, anyway?"

"Then he left the school." Bob looked out the window from his position near the door. "You don't think...?"

"No," Eric shook his head again, more firmly this time. "I rang the police to remove the _kids_ from the car park as soon as Bart didn't answer his phone during the fire alarm. I should have done it sooner, but I didn't want them to be suspicious. Anyway, the police told me they sent them away, despite their protests, so they can't have gotten Bart."

Lightly throwing his arms up in defeat, Bob shrugged. "Well then where the hell is he? Does Millhouse know?"

"Millhouse didn't come in today."

Eyebrows furrowing, Bob looked away from Eric and instead looked at a blank wall. He knew Bart could take care of himself, but he still didn't like this. There were so many things that could go wrong if he didn't know the kid's whereabouts. Worst of all, Bob had no idea what his next move was. How could he find someone when he had absolutely no leads?

-~X~-

"Dude, you live here?" Bart asked. They were in a really bad part of town, one that even Bart had visited only a few times during his time as a lackey for Mark. There was trash strewn about carelessly, tall buildings that housed many small-looking apartments, stray animals, and tough looking individuals strolling about and eyeing them- mostly Bart.

"What's wrong with it?" Nelson asked sternly.

"Everything."

Instead of being insulted, Nelson laughed. "I guess it _would_ be like that for _you_."

"How do you not get robbed? Bashed? Knifed!?"

"Pah! These are my people!" Nelson grinned, opening his arms wide and gesturing to the area in general. Then he added, "and they know I'd put up a decent fight."

Shaking his head but smiling nonetheless, Bart shoved his hands in his pockets and walked with Nelson up to the front door of a particularly shabby-looking building. It was then that he realised that his pockets were empty. Eyes widening, he fumbled around and fished through his pockets, but came up empty. Along with the realisation that he'd lost his phone, he also inconsequently realised he'd lost Bob's lunch container.

"What's up?" Nelson asked.

"I've lost my phone..." Bart muttered darkly.

"Well shit," Nelson offered flatly.

"Yeah. Shit is right." Bart sighed and scratched his head. "Maybe I should go back to school."

"What? Why?" Nelson sounded incredulous as he pulled out a key-chain and slid a key into the lock on the door, jiggling it around before it turned properly and clicked.

"My ride was picking me up there."

"So just walk home from here- after we play some games," Nelson said. "Your house isn't that far."

Biting his lip, Bart glanced at Nelson as the boy walked inside the building and held the door open for Bart to follow. He walked inside and heard the door close with a thud and a clunk behind him when Nelson let go of it, automatically locking itself again.

"Uh, I'm not going home."

As they walked up the stairs, Nelson glanced at Bart over his shoulder with a confused frown. "Then where? Millhouse's is only a walk away, too."

Bart looked away from Nelson. What was he supposed to tell him? That he was staying at Sideshow Bob's because baddies were out to get him?

Nelson didn't stop, but kept glancing at Bart suspiciously. "You're being awfully secretive. What, you got a girlfriend?" Blinking at the question, Bart considered lying and agreeing with Nelson. "Maybe."

Giving a short laugh, Nelson shook his head at something and stopped after two flights in front of a battered blue door. He pulled out his key-chain again.

"What?" Bart demanded with a frown.

"Nothing, nothing," Nelson said with a smile before he shoved his door harshly to open it and walked inside. The interior was fairly bare, but there was an old couch and a T.V. and a fridge, which was all that mattered.

"It's actually not as bad as I thought it would be," Bart commented honestly. He'd thought there would just be a mattress on the floor or something. "Not great. But not bad."

Jabbing Bart in the side for his remarks, Nelson shut the door behind him and locked it before heading for the fridge and pulling out a couple of soda cans. He tossed one to Bart, who ceased rubbing his side in mock pain and caught it nimbly.

"I believe you promised me something?" Bart said matter-of-factly after he'd chugged some of his cola and swallowed the fizzy after-effect that came with downing it.

"You little addict," Nelson muttered, grabbing a fresh packet off his kitchen counter and passing one to the blond, who had approached eagerly. Bart lit it up as soon as he got a lighter in his hands. He shrugged.

"Not really. It just relieves stress."

"Which a sixteen-year-old who still lives at home should have lots of," Nelson snorted, moving to plunk down on his couch with his drink.

Ignoring Nelson's oblivious comment, Bart joined Nelson and fiddled with his can of cola. He was very stressed. How was he supposed to contact Bob if he didn't have his phone- which had Bob's number? Eric's, too. What was he supposed to do now? How could he be so stupid and careless? He couldn't go back to school either; he'd seen Mark's gang members there with his own eyes, searching for him. All of that plus the fact he didn't remember the way to Bob's house, nor his address, meant he was rather screwed.

"You gonna play or not?" Nelson asked, frowning at Bart.

Blinking back to reality, Bart glanced at Nelson before snatching the controller from him and crossing his legs.

"No feet on the couch," Nelson said idly, looking at the screen on his small T.V. as he booted up the game.

Making a face, Bart toed off his shoes and crossed his legs again and Nelson seemed to allow this because he said no more and just selected VS mode.

They played a few games and it became very apparent that Nelson was better than Bart. Mostly because he kept kicking his ass. Bart was distracted, but his losing streak caught his attention after a while of Nelson's mocking laughter.

"C'mon, I've never played this game before, gimme a chance!" Bart cried, moving his whole body with the controller and gritting his teeth as he tried to stop Nelson's character from beating his up.

The game announced Nelson the winner once again and Nelson laughed again. He didn't say anything, he just laughed, which made it worse.

"Lets play a different game," Bart huffed, dropping the controller in his lap.

"Fine. What do you want to play?"

"Something that doesn't involve me being beaten up."

Smiling, Nelson shook his head. "Then I don't have anything for you."

"Seriously?"

The brunette shrugged. "I like violent games, what can I say?"

Bart sighed and picked the controller up again, preparing to get his animated head bashed in again.

"How 'bout we watch a movie instead?" Nelson supplied.

"Sure."

Without asking Bart's preference, Nelson moved over to his T.V. and began rifling through his DVD's. He picked one out and replaced it with the game they'd been playing in his gaming console. Moving back to the couch, he yawned lazily and took another drink from his can of cola.

They watched the horror movie mostly in silence. Bart wasn't as fond of horrors as he used to be, but it wasn't a bad movie, and he watched it with mediocre interest. In a lull in the movie, Bart turned his curious eyes to Nelson. "How can you watch horrors when you live alone in a bad neighbourhood?"

Nelson smirked with humour at Bart. "These kind of movies are so fake, how can anyone be scared? I mean, if something bad is going to happen to me, it'd because someone was trying to steal something from me. These movies are about serial killers and psycho people and zombies and shit," he snorted.

"Still. They give you the creeps," Bart protested, though he could see Nelson's logic.

Shrugging, Nelson was already looking back at the screen. "Not really."

Defeated, Bart looked back at the screen again also, just in time to see a grisly murder. They watched another movie, this time a comedy, before Bart noticed the sky darkening outside Nelson's unwashed windows. Apparently Nelson noticed it, too.

"You wanna stay here tonight?" Nelson asked, standing and stretching his limbs. "You can crash on the couch."

Bart thought about it. He didn't want to impose, plus this neighbourhood unnerved him a little. But he saw no other choice. He'd rather stay with Nelson than be by himself. Nelson was comforting; his attitude and demeanour was familiar, and rather calming. So he nodded.

"Thanks."

"Cool. Lets watch some more movies first, though. The night is young, and I want you to watch this one," he said as he waved another scary-looking movie around.

-~X~-

Bob was pacing again. He had tried to get himself out of the habit before, but it seemed to always come back with a vengeance.

It was midnight and he still hadn't heard from Bart, nor had Eric, who had called not even an hour earlier to report _nothing_. Bob hadn't exactly been worried to begin with, but now he certainly was. Was Bart okay? In one piece? Wandering the streets? That stupid, impenitent brat! What the hell had he done with himself?

He tried to get some sleep, but his mind was far too preoccupied and his body felt agitated and twitchy. Television proved even worse a distraction. By then it was two in the morning.

Grabbing his keys, Bob decided to go out and drive around town again in search for the blond. He'd already spent half his time since finding out of Bart's missing status driving around, looking for him; but sitting at home wasn't doing anything- in finding Bart or for his own sanity.

He'd only just grabbed his jacket and reached the door when his phone rang. Backtracking, Bob picked it up. "Hello?"

-~X~-

Bart stood outside Nelson's bedroom biting his lip. The door was slightly ajar, but Bart still couldn't see inside very well.

Even after they had eaten some instant noodles, said goodnight, and Nelson had gone off to his bedroom to sleep, Bart hadn't been able to drift into unconsciousness. His mind kept on going over what he was going to do tomorrow. Whether he should risk walking to school with Nelson in the morning, wander around and try to find Bob's house- there was even a part of him that desperately wanted to go home to his family and his room and his stuff- back to his life. And that's when he'd thought about using Nelson's phone to ring the school tomorrow. He should be able to find the number in the phone book and he could be put through to Eric. Then, something Eric had said popped up in Bart's head loudly.

"_So I had your full name from that, and it was easy enough to just look you up in a phone book; not too many people have your name, you know." _

Bob was in the phone book. That revelation (that really shouldn't have taken as long as it had) made Bart jump off the couch and make his way to Nelson's bedroom. But that's where his thought process ended, leaving him in front of the bedroom of a slumbering, oblivious boy.

He'd hate to get caught, but he needed the brunette's phone, considering he didn't have a landline. So he pushed the door, cringing as it creaked, and crept inside. Eyes adjusting to the increased darkness of the room, Bart looked around. Nelson was sleeping soundly by the looks of it, in a bed that looked like it had been left behind by the last occupants of the apartment. Again, the room was sparse with few furnishings. But the otherwise silent room was filled with Nelson's breathing and the light that shone from the moon through his bare window. Spotting the old phone on a bedside table, Bart crept up as quietly as he could and gently lifted it from the table. The phone was chunky and boxy, and looked to have once been a light blue in colour but was now rubbed back and a weird white-grey colour.

As quickly as he'd come, Bart turned and began creeping out again, but Nelson's deep voice startled him into freezing on the spot.

"Bart...?" Nelson asked, sounding drowsy.

Hesitantly risking a glance at the brunette, Bart hid the phone in his pocket quickly. Nelson was still in bed, surrounded by blankets. Bart stayed silent, afraid of the consequences of affirming Nelson's 'question'.

"What the...? Get out, you homo," Nelson mumbled gruffly but not seriously before there was some squeaks from the bed as he rolled over and then silence. Eyes wide and lips twitching up in scared humour, Bart rushed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Not sure whether Nelson had been sleeping or had actually woken up, Bart shook his head and sighed in relief. He had been afraid of getting punched or something. Nelson was still tough and intimidating, regardless of whether you spend a day playing video games with him or not.

Phone in hand, Bart walked back to the kitchen and looked around for the phone book, only realising then that his whole plan was ruined and his risk redundant if Nelson didn't keep one. But he eventually found one in an empty cupboard and pulled it out before flicking through it.

"Terwilliger, Terwilliger..." Bart muttered softly to himself, fingertip running down the page before landing on the one and only Terwilliger in the whole book. He chuckled to himself; Eric hadn't been kidding. Hardly sparing a second thought to the time of night- or was it morning? Bart punched the number listed into Nelson's phone and listened to the dial tone.

Bob answered quickly.

"Hey, Bob. So I was just wondering-" Bart began, but was cut off by the redhead.

"Bart! What happened? Where the hell are you?"

Bart scratched his head. "Uh, it's kind of a long story. Look, I'm sorry that I wasn't at school when you came to pick me up."

"What? That's- Bart are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm at Nelsons," Bart said casually.

"Give me the address," Bob demanded quickly.

"Uh... I don't know the address," Bart said, frowning. He hadn't paid attention to the street or the number of the

apartment complex. Bob was being all weird and snappy.

There was a long-winded sigh on the other end. "Then ask _Nelson_."

"I can't!" Bart exclaimed in a hushed tone. "It's two in the morning...he's asleep."

"Bart, I really am in no mood for this...just find the address- check his mail for all I care."

"Alright, alright! I'll go have a look, hang on a minute," he muttered before he walked around the counter to look at the white envelopes on the surface on the other side. One was not addressed to Nelson, but was to his mother from him. Nelson's handwriting was actually quite nice, despite what Bart had expected it to be like. Respecting his privacy, Bart went on to look at the next one, which was a bill addressed to Nelson. Bringing the phone back up to his ear, Bart riddled off the address to the redhead.

"Alright. I'm coming to get you. Stay put," Bob said firmly.

"What- now?" Bart baulked. "You're coming to get me now?"

"Well yes, Bart, _now._"

Frowning, Bart rubbed his neck. "I'm staying the night here, I just wanted to let you know where I was and that I was okay," he protested.

"That's ridiculous, Bart, you could be in unforeseeable danger. I don't even recall this _Nelson_ character."

"He's fine. I'm fine- for now. It'd look weird if you just turned up in the middle of the night to pick me up, don't you think?" Bart reasoned.

Bob snapped again and then hung the phone up, apparently not swayed. Bart closed his eyes in irritation and stopped to think. There were two ways this could play out. Either he sneaks out without Nelson noticing and he apologises to him at school with a made up story of why he had to leave in the middle of the night; or he wakes Nelson up, apologises, and tells him some truth. Of all the people he knew, Nelson seemed less-likely to judge him on his criminal past. He might even help him. But could he keep it a secret? Bart didn't exactly hang out with Nelson all the time, either...

Making his mind up, Bart trotted back to Nelson's bedroom and walked back inside- a little more confidently this time. He walked over to Nelson's bed, put his phone back, and then vocally cleared his throat.

"Nelson," he murmured, trying to get the boy's attention. Realising that wasn't going to work, he raised his voice a little and tried again: "Nelson. Hey, Nelson."

Frowning, Bart reached out to shake him a little and had to rest a knee on the bed to stabilise him so he could reach Nelson's shoulder. Nelson reacted violently, twisting around, his arm lashing out and grasping the collar of Bart's shirt. Bart fell forward onto the bed with a gasp, his whole body in shock. He gripped Nelson's hand and tried to loosen the tight hold he had that limited his breathing. Looking up at the brunette, Bart saw anger mixed in with a bit of fear, but then the look was gone and Nelson had released him.

"Simpson. What're you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing..." Bart dead-panned breathlessly, trying to sit up. He was a bit sprawled over Nelson but the taller boy didn't even seem to notice.

"You surprised me," Nelson offered easily, sitting up properly so his back was against the wall. He helped Bart sit up and gave him a weird look. "Why do you keep sneaking into my room in the middle of the night?"

Ignoring Nelson's mention of his last sneaking attempt, Bart shrugged a little. "I need to tell you something."

Nelson glanced at his bedside table. "Thanks for bringing my phone back. Wanna tell me what you needed it for now?"

Blanching, Bart sat back a bit. His leg was touching Nelson's lightly through the material of his blanket, and Nelson used their close proximity to bump him with his leg in an obvious prompt to speak.

"Uh," Bart began, "I needed it to call someone. They're coming to get me right now."

Frowning in distaste, Nelson grabbed his phone and looked at at it briefly. "It's quarter past two in the morning," he stated dully, looking at Bart pointedly.

"I know... They're a bit pissed I wasn't at school."

"_They_? Who's they?" Nelson asked as he rubbed an eye with the palm of his hand.

Not responding, Bart moved to get off the bed, but Nelson grabbed his wrist tightly and stopped him, pulling him back a bit. When Bart looked at him he saw Nelson's annoyed frown.

"What the hell, Bart, just tell me what's going on already."

* * *

><p><em>I'm quite unsure about this chapter, so if anyone finds anything off about it (as I'm thinking you will) please contact me. You guys are my betas.<br>_


	8. Alternatives

Alternatives

* * *

><p><em>"Confidence is what you have before you understand the problem." - Woody Allen<em>

Bart sat on the couch in Nelson's living room, staring at the blank T.V. screen. It was half-past two in the morning and all the lights in the apartment were turned on. Nelson was leaning against a kitchen counter that was situated near the front door, arms folded and expression pensive.

It was so quiet that they heard footsteps ascending the stairs on the stairwell outside the apartment long before they heard the knocking on the door. The knob twisted uselessly, as if the knocker had hoped it was unlocked, which it wasn't. Nelson pushed himself away from the counter and uncrossed his arms to unlock the door and open it; revealing Bob to be standing just outside in the hallway, his face firm and his state of dress a bit dishevelled.

"Bart," Bob said levelly. He was looking straight at Bart and not even paying attention to the brunette who stood beside the door. "Let's go."

"Hold on up there," Nelson said, gaining Bob's weary attention. "Bart isn't going anywhere." Bob's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Bart shot up from his position on the couch and quickly stepped up to the face-off. "Nelson-"

"Shut up, Simpson," Nelson said, not even looking at the blond.

"Look, I've had a long day," Bob said, looking down first at Bart then focusing on Nelson. He looked worn out; dark shadows lulling under his eyes a telltale of his lack of sleep, but he also looked quite pissed. "_What, exactly_ are you talking about?"

"I'm talking," Nelson said, looking Bob squarely in the eye, "about how I'm not letting Bart leave with _you_."

"Nelson-" Bart tried again, only to once again be cut off.

"Bart, what's going on- what have you said to this boy?" Bob demanded. He was beginning to look extremely frustrated.

"Boy?" Nelson scoffed.

Bart ran a hand through his hair. Maybe slipping out in the middle of the night might have been a better option. Heck, he'd never been known for making good snap decisions. But it was too late for regrets now.

Ignoring Nelson, Bob marched into the apartment, took a quick look around and sneered a little before focusing on the blond. "What have you done?"

"I- no-..." Bart fumbled over his words.

Rolling his eyes, Bob grasped Bart's forearm, spun around, and headed for the door, pulling Bart along with him. "We're leaving. We'll discuss this later."

But Nelson sidestepped so he was blocking the doorway and glared at Bob heavily. "You need to back the _fuck up_, let Bart _go_, and _leave_." Sighing in frustration, Bob rubbed some of his free fingers over his left eye.

Bart pulled his arm from Bob's grip and sent him a pointed look before he gazed at Nelson sheepishly. "Nelson, it's fine."

"Fuck, Bart, what part of this is fine?" Nelson frowned.

"I'll see you at school, okay?" Bart muttered. When Nelson didn't reply, Bart shuffled out the door, closely followed by a tense Bob. They walked down the stairs in silence and it wasn't until after they had exited the building, climbed into Bob's silver car and drove all the way to Bob's house that the redhead finally spoke. The quiet engine died as it's power was cut off, and Bart couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to follow it.

"I really hope you haven't done what I think you've done," Bob said. He sounded surprisingly calm, but Bart could tell a storm could easily follow; the man wasn't even looking at him.

"Then I hope you think that I _didn't_ tell Nelson everything," Bart said quietly.

Bob was nodding to himself, and then he gave a muffled bark of laughter and suddenly turned his wild gaze to a surprised Bart. "Somehow you manage to disappear from your school- you don't answer your phone and no one can contact you, I get a call at two in the morning, you're somehow at this Nelson's 'apartment', and then you tell me you told him _everything_?"

Bart only managed to blink. He hadn't seen Bob this estranged for quite a long time.

"You had one thing you had to do- one job- not open your big mouth." Bob was scowling again.

That struck a chord and Bart frowned angrily. "What's the big deal? Nelson can help, he-"

"How can that feeble-minded low-life offer you any help?!"

"Hey!" Bart rose up in his seat a little, feeling tension and anger strap a firm rod against his back. "Don't say that, Nelson's a good guy."

Bob scoffed and rolled his eyes away from the blond. "Oh yes, indeed, I'm absolutely positive the little delinquent has a most shining repertoire of good deeds under his belt."

"He's done more good than you probably ever have," Bart bit out without thinking. He immediately felt guilt and, strangely, a small amount of unease at bad-mouthing Bob; not the usual dread that came along with the fear of a violent man, but different this time. So he evened it up somewhat by continuing, "and he's certainly done more good than me, so if he's a delinquent, what does that make me?"

But Bob didn't reply. He was too busy with his eyes screwed shut and his hand massaging his forehead in a look that spoke of both pain and repressed anger. Bart watched the redhead sit perfectly still, only his hand moving, the only illumination from the dim streetlights lining the road casting him mostly in shadows. In the end, Bart couldn't handle the silence.

"Nelson's offered me a place to crash," Bart muttered. The man gingerly stole a reluctant glance at the blond and Bart continued as if pushed. "I think I'd be safer there."

"What does that mean?"

"It...It means I'll _feel_ safer there," Bart said.

There was a moment of pause- no more than a few seconds, before Bob smashed a fist against the wheel of the car, sounding off the blaring horn for a brief, loud second, and then he was gone; out the door and into his house, his long legs carrying him quickly.

Left alone, Bart stared after the redhead, mouth slightly agape. He didn't understand Bob at all; there was no way Bart could just forgive him completely for all his wrong-doings in the past, especially considering they were all mostly centred around him. Killing him. Getting revenge on him. Even if Bart did forgive him, there was no way Bart could even force himself to forget. Bob wasn't stupid, surely he could see that.

Bart considered himself lucky to have survived as long as he had, but he was through with playing that dangerous game with the ex-clown. Will he, won't he; today or tomorrow. They were playing with lives here after all- well, Bart's life. Even if Bart gave in to the voice in the back of his head that told him there was no way Bob could actually kill him, there was always a risk. And why would he take that risk when he had other options?

Unclasping his seatbelt, Bart got out of the car and swung the door shut behind him with a gentle thud.

-~X~-

The weather was starting to move into it's colder months, and it wasn't doing it half-heartedly. The temperature was already low enough that if you got up early you would find the glistening of dewy frost on your lawn, the type that crunched underfoot. Bob, with little to no sleep, was awake at five AM, sitting in an armchair, across from an empty, lifeless fireplace. Eric Harris, however, was pacing.

"We have to get the police involved now," Eric said. The headmaster had invited himself over first thing in the morning and roused Bob from his musings. Because Bob couldn't sleep.

"And what, pray tell, do you think they will do?" Bob asked lazily, tracing a finger around the off-white rim of his coffee mug as was his usual distracted habit.

"Find him!"

"I know where he is; he blatantly told me."

Eric frowned and loosened his tie somewhat. "Then tell me the address so I can go see him. I shouldn't have allowed this to happen- this has all been insane from the very beginning!"

"You were quick to offer your assistance in enabling the situation," Bob quipped easily, his face passive as he took a sip of strong coffee.

Eric ignored him. "I should have called the police as soon as I found out where Bart was."

"He wasn't reported missing, nor was he missed. He wasn't even being held captive, Mr. Harris, you know all this; don't hold yourself above the situation." Bob crossed a leg and stared down at his beverage. He was beyond getting angry at Eric and his words now. Because there was nothing to get angry about; Bart was gone. Most likely gone back to that infuriating brunette, with whom Bart felt 'safe'. Eric destroying his plans wasn't a factor any more, because there simply were no plans any more. Bob had been so focused on Eric ruining things, that Bart had just moseyed off and done it himself.

"I'm still going to help him," Eric said firmly.

"Well that's good for you. Why don't you go off and do just that then, and, you know, get out of my house."

The headmaster crossed his arms and glared at Bob. "Why is it that you hate me so much? Is it because I'm actually looking out for Bart's well-being?"

_Bingo._

"I wasn't aware I needed a reason to dislike someone beyond the fact that they annoy me," Bob muttered, picking at a loose thread in his sweater.

"Yeah, and I annoy you because I'm looking out for Bart," Eric spat. He reached for his briefcase and tightened his scarf around his neck. "Just tell me where Bart is."

Even though his plans were shattered and Bob had no logical reason to deny Eric the bratty blond's location, the redhead still found himself loath to tell him. "Why don't you find it out for yourself, Mr. Harris. I'm not here to be your personal information guide to Bartholomew J. Simpson."

The man sent Bob a scathing glare before he whirled on the spot and left the house, slamming the door behind him with a sharp bang. Bob flinched at the sound but otherwise did not move. During their entire conversation in the living room, he hadn't looked at Eric once; his eyes instead strictly trained on his coffee and his self.

-~X~-

The taxi smelt of old burritos and the driver didn't speak. Bart felt uncomfortable for three completely different reasons. One, he wasn't used to catching taxis and the atmosphere was strangling. Two, his 'disagreement' with Bob left him with a bad taste in his mouth and an unease in his stomach. Three, he didn't have any money to give the driver and therefore knew he would be doing a runner and ripping the guy off. Bart couldn't help but think the guy was suspicious of the latter because he kept on looking at him in the rear-view mirror.  
>"Number twenty?" The driver finally spoke. His voice was quiet yet deep, and Bart unconsciously compared it to Bob's, concluding them entirely different.<p>

"Yeah," Bart said, licking his lips. Usually he wouldn't find it this nerve-wracking to rip off a taxi driver; he was used to small crime and mischievousness, but now, after his nerves had been completely stressed and shot, he supposed he was worn a bit thin.

Nelson lived at the end of this street, a few blocks away, but Bart didn't know any other street names close by, so was forced to recite Nelson's to the driver. He'd just have to run off an adjoining street and retrace his steps, he figured.

The shitty neighbourhood rolled into view and, as silently as he could, Bart unbuckled his seatbelt and pretended to rifle through his pockets.

The car pulled over to the side of the road and the driver fiddled with the little computer on his dashboard that had the amount Bart was to pay shining digitally through the lifting darkness.

"That'll be-" the driver cut himself off as Bart wrenched the door open, jumped out, and pushed the door closed as he fled.

"Sorry!" Bart called over his shoulder, his glance showing him that the guy wasn't even chasing him. The man just watched him briefly before pulling back onto the bare road and taking off again. Bart hadn't even ran that far by then. He stopped and watched the taxi drive away.

But he'd never done that before, so he hadn't known what to expect. So, shrugging mostly to himself, he walked to Nelson's apartment block. The darkness was just starting to lift when Bart buzzed number ten and waited until he heard a crackle from the broken speaker and then Nelson's voice, muffled through the crappy line.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Nelson, It's me, Bart," Bart said, finding it necessary to give his name so as to be recognisable through the crackly speakers. There was a low click and Bart quickly opened the door and went inside. The stairs seemed longer this time, and Bart could hear people behind the doors of their apartments, arguing, crying, banging around. He started to jog and when he reached the third floor he found Nelson's door already open and the brunette standing in the doorway, a serious expression on his face.

Breathing a little heavily, Bart stopped in front of Nelson and looked up a little at him. "Hey," he said lamely.

"What happened?" Nelson asked, ignoring Bart's greeting. He truly looked like he was on the verge of losing his temper. That wasn't something Bart had seen very much of.

"I-I'm not really sure," Bart answered with a frown.

Nelson sighed and stepped back, inviting Bart into his home. "You're even more messed up than I am, Simpson," he said as Bart crossed the threshold. Bart kept his eyes trained forward. There was something strange about Nelson. He seemed kind of restrained.

"Are you alright, Nelson?" Bart asked after the taller boy had closed the door behind them. Nelson shot him a surprised and decidedly guarded look.

"What? What's wrong with you Simpson- are you retarded? You're the one living with criminals and running from gangsters. Not me." Nelson crossed his arms and glared at Bart.

Slouching his shoulders a little, Bart slunk over to the couch and sank back into it. "I know."

Nelson walked over and after moving a couple of things on the coffee table and making room, sat down on it and crossed his arms again. "Bart, why the hell are you back here? What happened? Where's the palm tree?"

Snorting at Nelson's choice of words, Bart shrugged his shoulders and straightened them, deciding he didn't want to look so meek in front of Nelson. "I told him I wanted to stay with you," he said coolly. "I still can, right?"

"Well, sure," Nelson said. He frowned a little, letting his arms relax and lean against the coffee table's surface. "But I still don't understand. What changed?"

Bart shook his head. "Does it matter?"

"It kinda does, Simpson."

"We had an argument, okay?" Bart said, unaware that the volume of his voice was rising. "Look, just drop it." Explaining it to Nelson was just making Bart feel worse; it made him realise how screwed up it was, how petty, and how he still didn't fully understand what happened himself. Frustrated and exhausted, Bart rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Okay, fine," Nelson raised his hands in the air in mock defeat and stood up from the coffee table. He sighed and walked off to the kitchen and began rifling through the fridge.

"Nelson?" Bart asked, waiting for the brunette to grunt in response before he continued. "I'm pretty tired. I'm just going to crash, I think," he said as he toed off his shoes.

"You're not hungry?"

"Nah." Bart laid down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling through tired eyes.

There were footsteps before Nelson's face loomed in Bart's already-blurring vision. "Get up, Simpson."

Bart frowned. "But I'm tired," he whined.

"You can sleep in my room, there's good curtains up in there and the sun won't annoy you."

Sighing, Bart sat up and twisted to look at Nelson's intimidating form. "I really don't care about that."

The brunette rolled his eyes. "I want to watch TV, Simpson, and I can't do that with you sleeping on my couch," Nelson said, plonking himself down on the couch next to Bart. "I'm sure you remember where it is- you found it last night well enough in the dark."

Not missing the easy, calm accusation, Bart sighed again, scraped himself off the couch and made his way to the only bedroom in the small apartment. The room was as dark as promised, and the bed was unmade. It felt very lived in and _owned,_ despite the mildly surprising cleanliness. Bart was too tired to worry much about sleeping in Nelson's bed and he crawled under the covers and closed his eyes without looking around nosily like he normally would.

His mind drifted to the feeling of security he felt lying there in Nelson's bed, under Nelson's roof, and he imagined himself back at Bob's house- back under the redhead's protection. What would happen now? Would he hear from Bob again? Those and many more question swam through his drowsy head relentlessly, but the most predominant question remained: why did Bob blow up like that?

Bart fell asleep wondering for the first time whether or nor Bob had been truthful that day back in his silver car, when he told him he'd turned over a new leaf. Recent events pointed to no, and Bart didn't know how to feel about that. It seemed that he didn't know much about anything as of late.


	9. Toeing the Line

Toeing the Line.

A/N:_ I have _not_ abandoned this fic. I'm terribly sorry for my late updates, I am, but I'm busy with other original writing projects that are taking up a lot of my time. This and my other fics are always in the back of my mind though, and I will not abandon them, especially if people make it known to me that they wish to read on. I get forgetful sometimes, so reminders are helpful.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"<em>The further we are from the last disaster, the closer we are to the next." – Daniel Silva, <em>__The Kill Artist__

"Hey, Bart, get up."

The whole room felt tepid and, to Bart's drowsy mind, soft, like velvet or a giant downy pillow- or like he was floating in warm bathwater, and every single toe was surrounded by the comfortable heat. Nelson's voice sounded distant and unimportant enough for Bart to ignore it.

"I said get up, Simpson," Nelson said, this time taking a hold of the blanket covering Bart's form and yanking it off.

Groaning as the warmth was ripped away from him, Bart scrabbled for something to cover himself with but found nothing.

"You slept in those? I'll see if I can find a shirt for you to wear today, but I don't think much of my stuff will fit you very well."

Bart sat up and watched Nelson rummaging through his chest of draws. His hair was plastered to his neck and forehead, darkly wet from a shower. Reaching a hand up to lift the curtain away from the window above the bed, Bart frowned at the lack of sunshine. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Eight."

Dropping the curtain, Bart shot a disbelieving look at the brunette. "You're kidding me. Eight PM or AM?"

"PM. You slept all day. I wouldn't have woken you up but I need to leave soon and I wanted to let you know."

Bart stifled a yawn and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. "You went to school?" he asked.

"Yeah." Nelson threw a T-shirt at Bart and it was only then that Bart realised Nelson only had on a pair of black work pants.

"Where you going?" Bart asked idly as he looked down at the shirt Nelson had lent him. It was black with some rock band Bart didn't know splayed across the front.

"Work."

"Well that much I guessed. Where do you work?"

Nelson pushed his arms through a long-sleeved black shirt and did up the buttons. "A place you will never see, Simpson."

Bart smirked and rolled his eyes, stretching languidly before wriggling to the side of the bed. "So what time will you be back?"

"Not until around four tomorrow. Usually I start at seven but I wasn't supposed to work at all today, called in sick, but the guy they got to replace me was late and then rang up to cancel, so I have no choice but to go in. Sorry 'bout that. You'll have to spend the night alone."

"That's fine," Bart lied, secretly feeling a little nervous at spending the night alone in such a bad neighbourhood. "Gotta do what you gotta do. You're not sick though, are you?"

"Nah, just called a sickie." Fully dressed, Nelson turned to Bart. "You already know where the bathroom is, so take a shower while I'm gone, yeah? You can wear whatever of mine you want, that shirt is just a little old so it's a bit smaller than the rest, is all."

"Is that your way of telling me I stink?" Bart said with mock seriousness.

Nelson ignored him. "You can have whatever you want in the kitchen- except the pudding cup. That son of a bitch is mine, got it?"

Bart grinned. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Nodding satisfactorily to himself, Nelson grabbed a towel and quickly dried his hair with haphazardly ruffling, before tossing it into a hamper in the corner of the room. "I'll leave you my phone. The number for my work is on top of the phone book in case of an emergency and _only_ in case of an emergency."

"Right."

As Nelson headed out the door Bart climbed out of bed and followed him up to the door of the apartment, where Nelson once again turned and regarded him with reluctant hesitation.

"Stay out of trouble, Simpson. I'll be back in the morning."

Bart snorted and slung the T-shirt over his shoulder with a flourish. "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna be fine. Just go already. I promise I won't throw any ravers."

Giving the blond a stern look, Nelson pointed two fingers at his eyes and then one at Bart before turning and heading out the door and down the stairs. Bart smirked at his retreating form for a couple of seconds before closing the door and making sure it was locked. The silence after that was unsettling. Bart moseyed over to the window where he could watch as Nelson emerged from the apartment building and walked down the lamp-lit street, taking with him any attempt of Bart's to appear happy and pulled-together.

And then Bart was well and truly alone.

Bart turned the television on just for some background noise, switching it to some old movie he'd never seen before. With the sound of music, voices and laughter settling his nerves, Bart scanned his surroundings properly for the first time. He wandered from room to room, examining books left lying around, old post-it's with reminders scrawled across the paper, and other such boring items, until he found a framed photo he hadn't noticed in Nelson's bedroom earlier in his exhausted state. It was of Bart's sister, Lisa, when she was younger, smiling like she hadn't a worry in the world. At first Bart was very surprised to find it, but after giving it some thought he realised that he probably should have anticipated similar from the beginning. Thoughts of Lisa caused a knot of guilt and rue to pull itself together in his gut; he missed his family. Abandoning the picture, Bart strode into the kitchen and pulled Nelson's phone across the counter. Punching in a number with practised-ease, he held it up to his ear and waited for someone to answer it.

"Hello?"

The knot turned into several. "Hey, mom."

"Bart! It's so good to hear from you," Marge said blithely. "It feels like I haven't talked to you in weeks. When are you coming home? Are you enjoying it at Millhouse's?"

"Yeah, mom, it's nice to talk to you too. Yeah, it's fine here. Um, I dunno when I'll be coming home... Soon. But anyway, how have you been?"

Happily surprised with Bart's question, Marge went off into ramblings of what she and everyone else has been up to while he had been gone. Nothing was especially surprising, but Bart still listened to it all, adding the occasional 'mhm' when appropriate, and the odd 'you're kidding' or 'that's nice'. Marge was such a positive person, it was hard to stay mad at her, so even though before all this had happened he had been miserable in his own home, in that moment Bart felt nothing but love and a pining to be back there. He even wanted to see Homer.

"How's Lisa and Maggie?" Bart asked in a comfortable lull.

"Oh they're both great. But Lisa asks about you; I think she misses her big brother. You should come home soon. I'll cook something nice and we'll all have dinner together like we used to."

Leaning back against the counter and staring up at the off-white ceiling, Bart nodded. "Yeah, mom, that sounds nice. I'll come home soon."

"Well good. You're eating, right? Three times a day?"

He smiled. "Yes, mom," he lied. He wasn't eating regularly, just when he was hungry or when Bob shoved food under his nose and gave him a look that might as well have been him saying, 'eat it or else.'

Marge sounded satisfied with Bart's call in the whole. She asked a couple more trivial questions before thanking Bart for taking the time to call. They exchanged goodbyes and then Bart pushed the red hangup button, ending the connection. Although he hadn't talked to Lisa like he'd intended, talking to his mother had been like a balm he hadn't realised he needed. Making the decision to call again tomorrow in an attempt to talk to his sister, Bart opened the fridge with the intent to appease the part of him that felt guilty over lying about taking proper care of himself to his mother. It wasn't stocked anything like Bob's, or even the one at home. There were apples, bread, milk, some jars of various jams that had crazy expiration dates and other condiments, some simple vegetables, cartons of yoghurt, and a chocolate pudding cup.

Bart smiled at the pudding cup, and considered for a terrifying second eating it not despite but because of Nelson's warning. But that crazy idea passed rather quickly. Instead he settled for cooking some toast and cutting up an apple. He ate his meal in front of the television, staring at the screen without actually registering what it was he was watching. It was when he was contemplating rifling through Nelson's video games to pass the time that Nelson's phone rang. His first instinct was to let it ring out; whoever it was who was ringing was obviously looking for Nelson, not Bart, but the part of him that felt guilty for burdening Nelson like he was made him get up and dive for the phone. He could at least take a message.

"Hello?" he said, and because he realised he might be confusing the caller he added, "Nelson's phone."

There was a pause. "Bart?" It was Lisa. "Why are you at Nelson's? You're supposed to be at Millhouse's."

"Crap," Bart blurted, wincing as soon as he said it. "Uh, hey, Lisa... What's up?"

"What's going on, Bart? And don't even think about lying to me because you know I can read you like a book," she said, and to her credit, she didn't sound patronising like he thought she would, only matter-of-fact and perhaps even concerned.

Sighing, Bart slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "Okay, alright, you caught me. I'm staying at Nelson's, not Millhouse's. Why are you calling Nelson, anyway?"

"It's not what you think," Lisa said hurriedly. "Mom said you called and I wanted to talk to you so I hit redial."

A popular solution, Bart thought to himself bitterly. He realised he probably should have hidden the number before calling. "I didn't know it was Nelson's number. Now my turn: why are you staying at Nelson's? I didn't know you were...friends?"

Bart shrugged his shoulders, fully aware that there was no one to see it. "I didn't know either. Look it's not..._easy _to explain right now but I promise I _will_ explain it to you. Just not right now. "

"Should I be worried?"

"About your capable big brother? No way."

Lisa hummed, her tone disbelieving. "And there's no way I can help?"

"Listen, Lisa, nothing's going on that you need to worry about," Bart assured, digging the fingertips of his free hand into the coarse carpet. "Everything's fine."

"Since you left there have been guys hanging outside the house, Bart. I don't recognise them, yet they told mom that they're your friends, that they're looking for you. One of them said something to Maggie and she threw a rock at him."

Bart sat up straighter. "What? Is she okay?"

"She's fine, nothing drastic happened, they just exchanged some...choice words. But, Bart, it's obvious that something is going on. If you don't want to tell me what it is right now then fine, but please be careful, and remember that your family loves you. I'm always here to help, no matter what the problem is."

The carpet caught Bart's nails and he felt a few of them bend under the pressure. He had to clear his choked-up throat before he could murmur, "Thanks, Lisa. You're the best. Tell Maggie I said hi, and to leave those guys alone. They're bad news."

"I _knew_ they weren't your friends," Lisa said, her words compact and tight, said without thought. She quickly added, "Anyway, I'm glad you're alright. I hope you come home soon. It's not the same without you here."

Half of Bart's heart believed her with an achingly deep gratitude, but the other half remembered the times he had spent two or three times longer away from home without so much as any of his family blinking an eyelid. Bart guessed this time was a little different; Lisa knew he was in some sort of trouble and was worried. It was affecting her, too, with the strange young men hanging around outside their house all the time.

"Listen, Lisa, those guys, I don't know them. Well I-I guess I do, but they're not my friends. If they act out in any way just call the cops on them. I'm surprised mom or dad haven't complained about them yet, actually."

"Well, they're not always so obvious. Sometimes they're parked across the road, or in front of the Flanders or further down, and they're always polite and respectful to any adult who talks to them. It's really quite bizarre," Lisa said, and Bart could practically hear the frown in her voice. "I wish you could tell me what's going on."

"Just be careful of them, okay?"

Lisa sighed. "Alright."

It took Bart longer to say goodbye and hang up the phone with Lisa than it had with their mom, and when he finally did he stared at it guiltily for a long time. When he finally released his grip on the coarse carpet his fingertips were numb from the treatment. Without looking at his fingers he counted on them how many people his actions had affected. One, his entire family was in potential danger. Two, he had and still was burdening Nelson. Three, Eric Harris, his god-damned headmaster. He'd made Eric worry enough to search for him. Four, Millhouse was lying for him. Five, Bob. That was where his train of thought ran out of steam- why, he didn't know for sure. He wasn't positive if he had put the man out or not, because not only had Bob seemed more than happy to help, but because how do you 'put out' your attempted murderer of several occasions? He couldn't wrap his head around the idea of someone burdening someone else who had tried to kill them. So maybe that was why he felt so differently about his treading on Bob's toes than everyone else.

"I'll hurt myself if I keep thinking this hard," he muttered to himself, pushing his tingling fingers up the nape of his neck to scratch at his head, feeling like he was chasing the strange thoughts away with his sharp, blunt fingernails. He really wanted a cigarette, but knew there weren't any in the apartment from his investigating. Nelson must have taken the packet with him without leaving him any, the ass.

Bart let his eyes drift over the room, stopping when he spotted the shirt Nelson had lent him on the floor. He pulled himself to his feet using the counter, his entire body feeling overly tired despite having not long woken up, and retrieved the article of clothing. After turning the television off Bart turned on the shower and stripped off his clothes. Sliding under the hot water felt like entering an entirely different world. It felt wonderfully scalding and soon his skin was red and prickling, feeling so non-existent that he actually had to look down at his chest at one point to reassure himself that he was there.

After using the shower and the rest of the bathroom's facilities, Bart dressed himself in Nelson's worn black shirt and put the rest of his own clothing back on; the shirt looked really baggy as it was, he didn't think he'd be able to keep up a pair of Nelson's pants.

Trudging back into the open-plan living/dining/lounge room, Bart stopped in the middle of the floor space. Without Nelson around or the television talking, the silence in the apartment, broken only by the sound of traffic or the occasional bump or yell of a neighbour, was really uncomfortable. Bart felt like an intruder. He scratched at a bare arm and bit the inside of his cheek irritably; he needed a cigarette. Patting down and shoving his hands into his pockets, Bart searched for any forgotten money and found a couple of crumpled bills. Alone they were not enough for a cheap packet, so he moved over to the couch and lifted the seat cushions. A few dull coins stared up at him. He swiped them, slipped them into his jeans pocket with his flattened bills, and picked up his shoes from the floor and pulled them on without untying the laces.

There was a small part of him that insisted that Bart was stupid for planning to leave the apartment just to buy cigarettes. But it was easily drowned out by not only his gnawing cravings, but also the hollow feeling he had that cared very little about his own safety right at that moment. As Bart jogged back to Nelson's room to uncover and throw on a too-big-for-him sweater to ward off the cold, he glanced out the window. It was dark. No one would see him.

Well equipped with his small change and the sweater hood that cast his face in shadows, Bart headed for the front door, where his stubborn determination was met with it's first and possibly last challenge: he didn't have a key. He couldn't leave the apartment unlocked, and the complex door locked itself automatically.

"Damn it."

He stood there dumbly for a good minute, torn, until the mental words 'spare key' hit him like a squishy spit-ball. Nelson might have a spare key. Duh. Five minutes of detective-like searching later he found it in plain sight just above the kitchen counter, hanging on a protruding nail like an offering. Frustrated with his stupid self, Bart nabbed the key, tested it on the door to make sure it worked with the lock, and left the apartment. He took the stairs two at a time and was rewarded when a cool evening breeze met him outside the building. Letting the door swing closed behind him, Bart closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath of fresh, free air. Somehow, it made the hollow sensation in his core feel just a little less empty.

The street was barren, everyone inside to avoid the chill. Remembering just how bad the neighbourhood was, Bart tugged on the hood to make sure it was in place before setting off in a promising direction. He was sure he'd seen some shops down that way before, when he'd walked home with Nelson.

Invigorating as it was, the cold only grew, forcing Bart to wriggle his hands into the pockets of the hooded jumper and hunch his shoulders forward to try and keep some of the warmth in. It wasn't long though before the shops came into sight. A broken neon sign that still radiated inconsistent orange light from behind dirty glass and security bars spelt out 'tobacco' and that was enough incentive for Bart to steer toward the window shop. There were a few people loitering about on old crates, smoking cigarettes and chatting, but Bart ignored them and came to a stop to read the prices through the window.

He didn't have enough.

Bart cursed his bad luck and the waste of time and turned around to start back to the apartment, head slung, when he noticed something shiny on the ground. In the past, Bart wouldn't have even given the dropped or discarded coin a second thought, but now Bart did a double take.

It was a dollar coin, lying there all innocent and nonchalant like it wasn't exactly what Bart needed to buy a sweet packet of cancer. He didn't even think about it before he dropped into a crouch and reached for the coin, which, bafflingly, wouldn't budge. Laughter burst from the pack of loiterers and Bart immediately glared at them. The assholes must have glued it to the ground or something so they could laugh at whoever tried to scavenge it. Bart himself had done the exact same prank, except he had been ten at the time, whereas the loiterers where all well-and-truly adults.

About to snap sarcastically at the group, Bart almost bit his tongue in surprise when they began throwing coins at him, their laughter still bouncing off the walls. One coin hit him on the forehead with a thunk, making him flinch so violently he almost fell onto his backside. Scowling now, Bart forced himself to remain calm. A coin that hit Bart in the leg bounced off and rolled around before Bart snatched it and several others up. He raised his coin-filled hand at the loiterers in an appreciative manner, smiling sarcastically, before approaching the tobacco store window and dumping it all on the counter.

"Packet of smokes, thanks," he said, pointing at the cheapest on the list and, because the group had mockingly tossed him more coins than the glued dollar was even worth, he added, "And your cheapest lighter, too."

The man behind the counter stared at him with the most passive, blank expression Bart had ever seen, and Bart was convinced that the man was going to deny him the purchase because he definitely looked young enough to be asked for ID, and Bart didn't have an ID. He held his breath but the man collected the pack and the lighter and dropped them on the counter before sweeping all the coins and notes into his hand. He only half-heartedly counted the money, and without a word, kept it all, even though Bart knew that rightfully he was earned some change.

Nevertheless he only nodded and said thank you, not too keen on pushing his luck, turned, and left. The loiterers cheered as he left, as if they thought Bart getting his cigarettes after what they put him through was some sort of achievement. And maybe it was. He still flipped them off over his shoulder as he left though.

Bart pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and coaxed the lighter aflame. The first draw was always the best, and this time was no exception. Bart inhaled deeply and held it there as his muscles relaxed. It was like eating something delicious after being starving to the point of feeling light-headed. Avoiding the streetlights, Bart strolled along the footpath in glorious silence, revelling in the crisp night air and tainted smoke. He was just blowing a smoke-ring when an arm looped with his. Caught by surprise, Bart coughed on a lung-full of smoke.

"Nice night, isn't it?" said a completely unrecognisable voice. The stranger smiled at Bart. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with buzzed hair and a few facial piercings.

Bart pulled his arm away. "Uh, who're you?" he demanded. He felt another presence come up on his other side and glanced at them, this one a lot like the first.

"Friends of Mark and Luke," the second guy said, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Even though it had been creeping up on him since the first guy surprised him, it still felt sudden when Bart's blood turned ice cold. His stomach lurched and Bart lurched with it, taking off at a sprint for Nelson's apartment. No time to think, no time to hesitate.

Behind him he could hear the two give chase, their footsteps loud on the footpath.


	10. Pre-emptive Despair

Pre-emptive Despair

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><p><em>"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important." -Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince<em>

Bar-tending wasn't bad. All you needed were nerves of steel and a good enough memory to remember all the stupid drink names and their ingredients, and that first one was always more important than the second.

Nelson leaned against the bar with one hand, his face impressively impassive as he waited for the group of women ordering drinks to stop giggling and make up their minds.

It had it's drawbacks too, of course.

"I'll have a Bloody Mary."  
>"Bloody Mary's are disgusting! Julie! Get something <em>yummy<em>!"

"Ooh, ooh, Julie, get me a Mai Tai!"

"Screaming Orgasm! Screaming Orgasm!"

"I fucking _like_ Bloody Mary's."

"Nononono get a Pina Colada."

"Screaming Orgasm!"

"_Fuck_ a Pina Colada, I'm getting a Bloody Mary."

"What about some White Russians?"

"_Screaming Orgasm_!"

"Will you order already? And get Laura her Orgasm so she'll shut up."

Running out of patience, and seeing several other customers who wanted to order, Nelson rubbed a hand across his forehead to repress his irritation before breaking up what appeared to be the start of a mini cat-fight over drink selection. "How about I make a recommendation?" he said, interrupting the women and gaining their attention. "I'll surprise you and I bet you'll all love it."

Stunned by the interruption only for a nanosecond, the women giggled and battered their eyelashes. The one doing the ordering nodded her head enthusiastically. "Sure! What a nice man," she crooned, obviously already close to being completely hammered. "But they better be gooood."

Feeling like there was a big wire-bound ball grating on the insides of his skull, Nelson grabbed four glasses and filled them with ice. Leaving the glasses he combined rum, blue Curacao, pineapple juice, cream of coconut, and roughly one cup of crushed ice into a blender and hit high. As he waited for the blue mixture to smooth out, another staff member poked him in the shoulder as he walked past.

"No more for them after this," he said, eyeing the group of women as they laughed obnoxiously and harassed the men around them vying for drinks. One of the women looked close to being sick. Nelson was about to give an affirmative when his co-worker continued, "Oh yeah, and someone's on the phone for you. A Bart Simpson?"

Nelson almost spilt the ice he was tipping out of the glasses onto the floor. He looked up at the other staff member that he currently couldn't recall the name of. "Did he say what for?"

"No, but he sounded weird. Out of breath."

A roll of anxiety flowed over Nelson's shoulders and down his arms, forcing him to stop pouring the drinks in case he dropped something. "Can you finish this off for me?" he asked, stepping away even before his co-worker agreed.

Nelson darted into the back room and headed for the the wall-mounted phone. "This better be an emergency," he muttered under his breath. But before he even got close he saw another of his co-workers standing right there with the phone receiver in her hand. Nelson watched in disbelief as she hung up and started casually dialling a number.

"Hey, that call was for me."

His co-worker, Anna, turned and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, but the line was dead. Figured it was free."

"Oh." Nelson stood rigid and confused until Anna turned back to the phone to make her call. The question of the urgency of Bart's call wasn't an easy one. Bart could have forgotten that Nelson's work was an emergency-only number and hung up once he recalled, could have been trying to prank call just to annoy him, or it seriously could be an emergency. Either way he had to make sure.

Still waiting quietly for her call to connect, Anna was checking her false nails out, flicking the long tips with her thumb to check their strength. Nelson took the steps necessary to reach and plucked the phone straight from her weak grip.

"Hey!"

"Excuse me," Nelson drawled airily as he pushed his way to the dial-pad, pressed the hang-up lever, and punched in his own phone number. "This is a very important call. Thanks for understanding."

"Asshole," Anna muttered, her heeled work shoes clacking on the wooden floor as she strode away.

Ignoring her, Nelson focused on the call. The dial tone rung on and on until his own voice told him to leave a message. And leave one he did. "Listen here, Simpson, you better have had a good reason to call me at work. If you don't pick up the phone _right now_ I'm blowing off work to come home, and you do _not _want me to do that if there isn't an emergency." Nothing. "Pick up, damn you, or your ass is in _so_ much trouble." More silence. Nelson gripped the phone a little tighter. "Aw, fuck it," he spat, slamming the receiver back down into it's slot. Turning away from the phone and the wall, Nelson looked at the faces of his surprised co-workers.

"Sounds like someone's got boyfriend troubles," Anna said sarcastically in a sing-song voice, a smile playing with corners of her lips.

Someone else laughed in harmless humour. Nelson didn't think it was especially funny.

"I'm leaving. Can someone tell Charlie when he gets back?"

Anna tutted, clicking her tongue in a patronising manner, and walked out front to deal with the customers, but another raised his hand and nodded. "Yeah I will. You're on the late shift, aren't you? I'll cover for you."

"Thanks," Nelson said distractedly as he headed for the back entrance. "I owe you."

Once outside Nelson lost his cool and ran for the road to hail a taxi. He usually walked to and from work and his apartment to save the money but he wasn't going to waste the time right now. The streets were fairly empty save for the odd car rolling down the tarmac, in no hurry while the roads were so clear. Nelson jogged down the road, hoping to catch a taxi faster if he moved to a busier street. Just as he was about to dash back to the bar to use the phone there to ring a taxi company, he saw yellow. The car was forced to screech to a stop as Nelson practically ran straight for it, not caring in the slightest if it wasn't in service or was already taken. He yanked open the back door, relieved to see it empty, crawled in, and pulled the door closed behind him before he looked up at the somewhat startled face of the driver. "Oxford street, please. Fast as possible would be appreciated."

Without a word the driver faced the road and, not before starting the meter, eased his foot onto the accelerator. Despite the fact the driver went as fast as he legally could and the streets were almost barren, Nelson still felt antsy. He cricked his neck several times, feeling morbidly uncomfortable to be sitting so still with so much adrenaline urging him on. Through the windows he counted the street blocks down. Six. Five. Four- no wait that's five. Four. Three. Two. One...

"Here'll be fine."

When the driver pulled up to the curb Nelson already had his wallet out. He glanced at the glowing numbers on the meter, grabbed a bill that was just a little more and practically threw it at the driver with a, "Thanks!" before he jumped out of the car.

The door to his apartment complex was intact. That was the first thing that came to Nelson's mind as he headed for it, already pulling his key out. Inside he jogged up the stairs, feeling more and more like he'd left work for nothing.

"If that bastard isn't bleeding or something equally as critical when I get in there he so _will_ be," he muttered under his breath. All ire fled the moment he saw his apartment door, however; it was open more than just a crack; the wood around the knob splintered.

Nelson pushed past it and was inside in an instant, his brown eyes scanning the interior of his apartment for Bart. Everything was quiet, like the kid had never even been there in the first place. He checked the bedroom, the bathroom, he even stormed into the toilet, but he wasn't there. Bart wasn't there. Nelson's mind went blank.

"What do I do now?" he asked himself, his voice low in the silent apartment. "He's fucking gone. What do I do?"

Making his way back into the kitchen, Nelson checked the counter where he'd left his phone and the number for his work on top of the phone book for the blond in case of emergencies. It was all still there, sitting on the opposite side of the counter-top than he'd left them, but still there. He'd hoped the phone at least would be gone.

As Nelson stared at the counter-top in a state of shock, he noticed something strange about the yellow post-it note he'd scribbled his work number on before leaving for work. He reached out and ran his fingers over it, feeling the almost invisible elevated bumps underneath the pen ink. When his fingers reached the edge he flipped it over to reveal a singular word scrawled in terribly rushed handwriting.

_BOB_

Nelson sucked in a breath and held it there. There were two things that single word could mean. One, Bart was taken by Sideshow Bob, or two, Bart wanted Nelson to contact the clown and beg for his help. Both were bad. Very, very bad.

"I don't exactly have the guy's number or address, Bart," Nelson murmured darkly, cracking the fingers of his left hand by his side, using his thumb to push down at the knuckles of his curled digits until they popped. "And how am I supposed to know whether I'm asking for his help or if I'm bashing his head in for kidnapping you?"

Groaning in frustration, Nelson scrunched the piece of paper up in his fist and shoved it carelessly into his pocket. His blood felt like it was flowing around his limbs faster than normal- like a rushing river, working harder because there were obstructions blocking his veins, so icy it felt warm. That felt minor though compared to the overwhelming anxiety and guilt that flooded his chest and tried to sink his heart amidst their waves.

Stuck in a helpless guilt-fest, Nelson didn't hear the light knocking on the front door until it became louder and a voice joined in. "Hello? I'm looking for Nelson Muntz...? The door's open so I'm just going to come in now."

Nelson whipped around and watched as his headmaster walked into his apartment. A red wool scarf was wound loosely around his neck and his grey coat lapels were clenched together in the front by white knuckles.

"Mr. Harris? What the hell are you doing here?" Nelson demanded, his muscles relaxing. _And at this time of night?_ he added mentally.

Eric smiled pleasantly at Nelson and stopped just inside the doorway. "Nelson. Ah, yes, I remember you now that I'm looking at you. You're the one who dumped poor young Davis in a yard trash can that time. He couldn't get out, you know. Other kids filmed his attempts and posted it online."

Nelson frowned, confused. "Is _that_ why you're here? No disrespect sir but that was over four months ago, and everyone knows Davis is an annoying little shit who takes pictures up girls' skirts with his phone when they're not looking."

Surprisingly, Eric smiled again, this time in humour. "Oh I know. Why do you think you didn't get into trouble."

No less confused, Nelson nodded and drawled, "Riiight. Well, Mr. Harris, this- whatever 'this' _is_- was great and all but I've got something really important to do right now so..."

"I'm here about Bart Simpson," Eric said, his face suddenly very serious. "You were seen with him at school the other day when the fire alarm went off. Your teacher reported you missing afterwards. I need to know if you're aware of where Bart went that day."

Nelson blinked at his headmaster, suspicion creeping in. "Why? Is something wrong? And if so why are _you_ looking for him?"

"It's complicated. Please, do you know anything?"

Nelson looked away. "No. I don't."

There was long a pause before Eric sighed. "You're lying; I can tell. Bart's here, isn't he? Look, I know all about what's going on. Bart will be fine seeing me." He shifted his weight so he could look down the hallway that led to the only other rooms in the apartment. "Where is he? Bart!"

Gaze slicing back to the older man, Nelson crossed his arms. "What do you mean you know all about what's going on? Bart told me everything but he didn't mention confiding in his- our _headmaster_."

Eric met Nelson's sceptical look and pursed his lips. "I found him at Robert's house and they told me everything. I was the one who took Bart to school the day the fire alarm went off and he disappeared. I haven't seen him since. Robert wouldn't tell me where he went so I had to track him down again. Look, just tell him I'm here. Is he sleeping or something?"

"He's not here."

Eric rolled his eyes. "I _know_ he's here already, so drop the act."

Shaking his head, Nelson ran a hand over half of his face. "You don't understand. Yes he _was_ here but now he's not. He was taken- I think."

Eric's shoulders dropped an inch. "What? Wait- you _think_? When?!"

"Just now. He called me at work but hung up before I could get to the phone, so I left, but when I got home the apartment door was open and he wasn't here," Nelson said in a rush, stabbing his hand through his hair now. Remembering the note he pulled it out of his pocket. "I found this."

Eric approached him swiftly and took the note. He glanced at it, turned it over, and frowned. "Bob?"

"Yeah, either that clown spazzed out again and kidnapped him or Bart wants his help."

Shaking his head, Eric smoothed out the note. "No, I was at Robert's house today. Bart isn't there."

Finally making the connection between 'Bob' and 'Robert', Nelson snatched his phone off the counter and pocketed it. "Then you need to take me to his house. We obviously need his help."

Eric's head snapped up. "Robert's? I don't think so. That man has done quite enough."

"Do you have a better idea? Do you know where those sons-of-bitches might have taken Bart?" Nelson demanded, raising an eyebrow at the man when he stumbled over excuses. "Listen, I don't like the palm tree either, but we've got to do _something_ and Bart obviously thinks that the guy can help."

Looking like Nelson had just asked him to jump off a cliff to his certain doom, Eric licked his lips and folded the post-it note until he couldn't again, staring at an empty wall. "Fine." He slid the paper carefully into his pocket and finally settled his eyes on Nelson. They looked tired. "Fine. Come on then, my car's outside."

-~X~-

Sideshow Bob's house was nicer than Nelson would have expected. For a criminal he had nice digs. It was one of those modern joints you see sprouting up overnight, the types you think must be really nice and new inside. It wasn't huge or anything but it was still...nice. More than any one man should really need. Not Nelson's cup of tea but whatever, not everything was.

Eric's car was nice, too- all shiny and clean. During the drive Nelson had tried to find a speck of mud on the hood or the windshield, a leaf or a pebble or _something_ on the floor, but he found nothing. It felt weird, like Eric was about to turn to him any minute and look at him like he was a pile of trash or a giant stain and take a dust-buster to his forehead.

They pulled into the clown's driveway and Eric put the car in park and tugged up the handbrake. He glanced at Nelson briefly before getting out, his car door thudding softly back into place after him. Nelson got out too, wasting no time in striding up the the front door and knocking loudly. Eric joined him in front of the door, his face impassive. Nelson waited a full ten seconds before bombarding the door with another set of firm knocks. When no one answered Nelson knocked harder.

"Where the heck is he?"

Eric shrugged. "I don't know. Probably ignoring us. He doesn't like either of us, you know."

"The feeling's mutual," Nelson said unfavourably, then, much louder, "Hey Bob! Answer the door! Or else I'll chuck rocks through your windows until you do!"

Not five seconds later the door was wrenched open. Bob was a mess. He had bags under his eyes, dark and pronounced, his hair was limp, and his clothes were ruffled and wrinkled. His expression however was perfectly murderous. "If you don't get off my property right now _I'll_ throw a rock through my _own_ window, call the police, and tell them you did it."

"In other words," Nelson said slowly, "Fuck off?"

A muscle in Bob's cheek twitched. "Precisely."

Eric took a step forward. "Bob this isn't a social visit. We have something important to say."

Bob's scathing gaze switched to Eric. "And you'll be saying it to the pavement unless you leave _right now_. It's past midnight for god's sake you crazy fool."

Seeing Eric's livid face, Nelson butted in."We need your help. Bart needs your help."

The redhead scoffed and raised a hand to rub a few fingers over one eye tiredly, his tall figure shifting to lean against the door frame. "He's not my problem any more, boy. He's yours now so you deal with him, and if it's not too much to ask, leave me alone while you're at it."

"We can't really do that," Nelson said. "Because we don't actually know where he is."

Bob's hand came away from his face and his eyes flicked open wider than previously. "What do you mean?"

"He's disappeared," Eric explained. "I finally found Nelson's address and turned up just after he arrived home himself, having been called by Bart at his work. Bart had hung up before Nelson could answer so he rushed home, only to find his apartment empty. There was only this, scribbled on the back of the number he used to call Nelson." Reaching into his pocket, Eric pulled out the note and passed it to Bob, who took it without hesitation.

Eyebrows furrowed, Bob stared at the one word long enough to read an entire letter. When he tore his gaze away at last he looked down at Nelson. "This is true? There's nothing else?"

"It's all true. And that's all he left behind, besides a shirt of his- he borrowed mine. I don't know what happened, but whatever it was it must have been that gang-leader guy, Mark's doing. We need to do something."

After another glance down at the note in his hand, Bob slowly nodded his head. "Yes. Yes it would seem that we certainly do. Come in." He backed away from the door and allowed Nelson and Eric entrance into his home.

Eric went immediately to a love seat and sat down like he'd done it a million times before. Nelson followed suit and found a seat close by. Bob didn't seem able to tear his eyes away from the post-it for longer than a minute. The man wandered into the lounge room without looking where he was going, but didn't sit down. He paced the floor slowly, his long legs carrying him far quickly nevertheless.

"This isn't good," he murmured, his expression thoughtful. "He has probably already been delivered to Mark by now, if it wasn't Mark himself who found him. We've possibly got a small window of opportunity, after which we will probably never see him again, police or not."  
>"We should call the police," Eric blurted. The man looked like he had seen a ghost; his face was as white as a sheet. "This has gotten too serious. They've kidnapped him! We're not well enough equipped to deal with this- we're not- we need to contact the police."<p>

"I know Bart didn't want us to do it," Nelson added. "But I agree. Bart's life could be at risk here."

Bob nodded slowly, seemingly in some sort of daze, not looking at them. But then as if snapping out of it he shook his head furiously. "No, no, that wouldn't be a good move to make. Not now when we have such a small chance of getting him back alive; such a short amount of time. It would take the police too long, what with all their formalities and nonsense. By then who knows what could have become of him."

Eric scowled at the redhead. "Oh yes, and of course if we call the police you'll have to explain just how come you were keeping the boy hidden away in your home, wouldn't you? Oh no, we wouldn't want that."  
>"This isn't about me," Bob shot back, narrowing his eyes at Eric threateningly.<p>

Nelson sat up a little straighter. "If we don't get the police involved then what _do_ we do? Sit around and argue?"

"No," Bob said, turning his back on Eric and levelling Nelson with a look of determination. "We go get the Simpson brat back ourselves."


	11. Forever Sacred

Forever Sacred

* * *

><p><em>"The best way to predict the future is to invent it." — Alan Kay<em>

So much had gone wrong since the very first day Bob had put his plan into motion. The whole thing had been so much more of an emotional roller-coaster than he had ever anticipated. How had everything warped so much? Into something he couldn't even identify any longer. The head of a lonely boy, the body of a violent criminal, the tail of an interloping delinquent, and the eyes of an authoritative mentor. Such a mythical beast should not, by any rights, exist at all.

Bob felt old. Old and tired, like one of those ancient fools who still stubbornly thought they could drive their cars, only to wind up causing a terrible accident. Only, if Bob were to make an accident it would mean more than a trip to the hospital and an insurance payout. It would mean prison. It could possibly even mean death.

Bob glanced down at the faces of Nelson and Eric, both watching him, their expressions a mixture of eagerness and hopelessness.

It's not fair, Bob thought, that the same person to carelessly blow on the precarious house of cards that had been his life, also drew in others who cared so much about him. Why couldn't Bart have been nothing but a horrid nuisance that everyone hated and no one would miss? That's exactly what Bob had initially thought, back when he had watched the boy. That no one cared about him. How wrong he had been.

"Right. And _how exactly_ do we get him back?" Nelson asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "You gonna ask nicely? Recite them some Shakespeare? Sing them some Mozart?"

And now here he was, forced into a situation where he had no choice but to _save_ the boy, his plans all but washed away.

Bob looked away from them, stooping to pull his jacket off the back of his favourite armchair. "We have to go straight to Mark," he said. "Now."

"Except we don't know where the guy is. We don't even know his last name," Eric objected.

"Oh but I do," Bob said distractedly as he searched for his keys, pulling up seat cushions until they clattered onto the floor. "His surname is Pavey. Quite a boring name, really. Disappointing, even."

"And just how did you find _that_ out?" Eric asked, sounding rather a lot like a father might when asking where his son had obtained something illegal.

Bob pocketed his keys and headed for the front door, the immobility of his uninvited guests less than important to him right at that moment. "I called in some favours from some people I was previously incarcerated with. They have a lot of connections. I found a few things out, including a good place to start looking for Mark."

As he opened the door there was scuffling behind him, and Nelson's voice carried: "Wait for me. I'm coming. I can't sit around doing nothing**–** I want to fuck this shithead up. Or at least _one_ of the shitheads that took Bart."

"Careful there; your feeble mind is showing, boy," Bob said, letting a dash of sarcasm into his tone. Outside, he stood and waited for Eric and Nelson to get the hell out of his house so he could lock it. The latter glared at him as he passed.

"You have a way with kids, Robert," Eric drawled, eyeing Bob with dark pupils matte with some shallow expression Bob cared little to evaluate. "Truly you do."

In Bob's shiny silver car, everyone seemed to have lost their voices. Even Bob, who was indifferent to it, could feel the tension. The near silent hum of the car enveloped them all for a good thirty minutes or so until someone popped the figurative bubble. Of course, said someone was Nelson. The cocky low-life who thought he knew Bart better than him.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Nelson clasped the two front headrests and leaned forward from the back where he and Eric had seated themselves.

"Nowhere fast if you don't let me concentrate," Bob muttered, his eyes flicking from street-sign to street-sign as they drove along unfamiliar roads.

"Well fuck, if you let me in on the 'secret' destination then maybe I can help. Just a fucking thought, ey."

"Calm down, Nelson," Eric said reasonably. "This isn't the time to get all riled up."

Nelson ignored him and strained harder against his seatbelt to get closer to the front. "Yeah well the clown is getting on my nerves."

"I'm not a clown."

"Once a clown always a clown."

Bob forced a groan of vexation back down his throat and a fantasy of him pushing Nelson out of the car while it was still moving out of his mind.

"Robert, if it's a street name you're trying to find I could always put it into the GPS on my phone and guide us there," Eric offered.

That would've been helpful right from the beginning. Realising the lost time was a result of his own stubbornness, Bob relented. "Actually, that would help. I've only a vague idea of where the place is. We're looking for a 506 Jamestown street. It should be in this area."

Nelson mutely sank back into his seat and there was a pause as Eric fiddled with his phone, typing in the address. "All right, just give it a minute to get a satellite signal and calculate the quickest route...and there it is. Turn at the next right. It's only a few minutes away now."

The neighbourhood was less than idealistic, just as Bob had expected it to be. It looked almost deserted, with the only visible people walking about aimlessly, looking for all the world like they didn't have a home to go to. Bob was half tempted to ask if Nelson felt at home here in the slums, if only for the satisfaction of seeing his face.

Eric called out another navigational command, sounding happy to have a productive job. "Another right and we're in the street."

The Jamestown street-sign was defaced and bent, like someone of considerable weight had hung off it like a monkey. Another sign below it had some of its words painted over so instead of reading 'community swimming pool' it read 'com swim in poo.'

Charming.

"Next block, on the left."

Easily spotting the building he was looking for, Bob slowed down and parked on the opposite side of the road.

"Which one is it?" Nelson asked, out of his seatbelt faster than anyone else.

"The red one," Bob answered as he pulled on his jacket and patted down his pockets.

Nelson leaned over Eric's lap to stare out through the window, his fingers no doubt pressing messy prints onto the clean glass. "But that's a tattoo studio. A shitty one, but still."

Bob twisted in his seat to level the others with a firm look. "Mark's older brother runs the tattoo studio, but it's mostly a front for their criminal activities. The upstairs floor is where Mark and his brother live. Perhaps others, too, I don't really know, but I wouldn't be surprised if Luke lives there as well. Although you two should stay here in the car I have a hunch that Nelson at the very least won't take well to that–"

"Damn straight, Palm-Tree."

"–_So_," Bob continued, "I won't even try to stop you. Just don't say I didn't warn you. And for heaven's sake, be careful."

"Didn't know you cared," Nelson remarked sarcastically, already reaching for the door handle.

"About your safety, no. But about the possible implications for myself if you were to get yourselves killed, yes."

The street smelled of smoke, petrol, and a little like garbage. Bob stepped over potholes filled with murky water, clumps of bubblegum dried to the tarmac, and take-out wrappers weighed down by old leftovers, all of which littered the road. Nelson walked ahead while Eric lagged behind, and despite his warning the kid tried barging into the tiny tattoo studio without so much as a moment of hesitation. But he couldn't.

"Door's locked," Nelson announced, turning back to Bob expectantly.

Eric shrugged. "Looks like we're calling the police."

"No, I'll bash the door down," Nelson said.

Rolling his eyes, Bob shook his head at them both. "Both those ideas are beyond terrible. The business merely isn't open yet. Just follow and stay behind me, and be _quiet_, all right?" He left without their replies, headed around to the side of the square building. There was a small sliver of space down the side of the red bricks, narrowed by a high, shabby wooden fence that bordered the empty lot next to it.

"Is this such a good idea?" Eric stage-whispered. "I mean, we're trespassing."

"They kidnapped Bart," Nelson said pointedly.

"But what if, you know, they're packing?"

Nelson stifled a snort with a hand and Bob refrained from sighing. "If you're scared then go back and wait in the car. You'll compromise us if you can't handle this, and that's potentially putting Bart's life in danger." He glanced over his shoulder at the headmaster. Eric looked ill.

"No," he insisted firmly. "No I'm- I'm fine. I can do this. Lead the way."

They slid down the length of the building, pressed against the painted brick walls and the shadows. Bob could hear their stifled breathing and the occasional misplaced step and wished he was here alone. These idiots would only slow him down and make things harder. It was bad enough that _he_ was here at all.

The back of the property came into view as they neared it. A small yard with yellowing grass and a couple of old tin sheds that were literally falling apart. Keeping close to the wall, Bob skirted around the corner. Nelson and Eric followed close enough that Bob could occasionally feel a brush against his back.

Smack in the middle of the flat wall was the expected back door, and once Bob reached it he stopped and listened for voices or movement inside. Hearing nothing, he tentatively turned the handle. There wasn't any resistance, and the door swung open with a miserable moan of metal sliding against metal.

Behind him, Bob could hear Eric's intake of breath, presumably in surprise. They walked inside, Bob taking note of the large doggy-door installed in the middle of the door. The room they entered was a small storage room, filled with water-stained cardboard boxes, a couple of ratty chairs, and a utility sink. Bob placed his pointer finger over his lips and gave the two behind him a firm look to get his point across before heading for the next door. Listening again, he heard nothing.

_The whole place must still be asleep, _he thought. Which wasn't surprising considering what time it was.

Pushing the already ajar door open, Bob froze. The room he'd revealed was the front room of the studio, with tattoo posters, machine parts, and a few ornate skulls sitting around the place. It smelled of cigarette smoke; other, more illegal smoke; and spilt alcohol. There were also a set of shiny red couches lining the walls, one of which was occupied by the long length of a dark-headed man who was clearly zonked off. What kind of unconsciousness the man was under was unclear, but Bob guessed it wasn't simple slumber.

Tearing his eyes from the man, Bob scanned the area and found the stairs across the other side of the room from the unidentified individual. They were only a few strides from the staircase, but they would have to pass directly in front of the sleeping man's line of sight to get to it.

Bob prayed the man's dormancy really was as deep as it looked.

-~X~-

It was dark. Was it still night time? Bart didn't know. The material tied around his head obstructed his eyes. He tried to move even though he knew he couldn't, and the rough binds dug into the skin around his arms, just above the elbows and at the wrists. The sound of his own breathing was all he could hear, dragged in and out through his nose since his mouth was gagged with a balled up wad of _something _held in place by more material tied so tightly around his head that the corners of his mouth ached. He wasn't even sure what the numb tumble in his stomach was any more. Fear? Hunger? Dread? Nausea? He could no longer tell them apart.

_Where am I? _ he thought to himself for the hundredth time, _what are they going to do to me?_

The sound of distant footsteps made Bart go still. He quieting down his breathing and strained to hear the steady beat. Half of him wanted to try and call out to whoever it was for help, but the other half wished vehemently for them to keep walking and leave him be. It could very well be Mark, after all.

_Oh god_..._what have I got myself into_? _Oh god..._

The footsteps became louder and Bart braced himself as they stopped right in front of him. He flinched when something touched his face, almost toppling over, but was righted by strong hands cupped around his shoulders. Someone shushed him and fiddled with the blindfold. Hope flared inside Bart's chest like fireworks.

The material was pulled away and Bart blinked the black spots out of his vision as artificial light assaulted his eyes. Focusing on the face in front of his, Bart felt his hope get stamped out like a lit cigarette on a sidewalk.

Luke grinned at him maniacally. "What a nice surprise. Long time no see, eh, Bart?"

Bart could only stare at him, his mouth still gagged securely, but the unspoken terror coursing through him prickled his skin from the inside like tiny shards of metal.

"You know, I didn't believe Jay and Bradley when they told me they nabbed you straight off the street. 'What the fuck would he being doing wandering the streets?' I said. And yet, here you are. How careless." Luke tutted and shook his head, though a wide smirk still stretched across his face. "Good for me, though."

Bart forced himself to tear his gaze off Luke and look around at the room instead. It was small, with a few torn posters of muscle cars and rock bands and busty women in bikinis and jean shorts stuck to the walls. A lumpy mattress sat directly on the floor against the far wall, covered with a nest of messy threadbare sheets and one thin pillow. Various used crockery were stacked in a pile near the mattress next to a heap of ratty magazines. Stains and burn marks marred the worn, rough carpet. Was this Luke's room?

"We do have a bit of a dilemma, though."

Bart's gaze flicked back to Luke, whose smirk was gone, replaced by forehead wrinkles someone as young as Luke- about twenty years of age- should by no rights possess.

"Our original plan was to sell you off black market style. We even had a few bidders lined up for when we found and caught you. But Anthony got impatient. He was supposed to be paid weeks ago." Luke scowled at Bart. "If only you'd delivered the package like you were fucking supposed to! None of this would be happening. But you didn't, did you. You probably opened it and decided to stash the money somewhere. Didn't you."

Bart opened his eyes wide and shook his head. He would have verbally protested if he could've. Luke lashed out and backhanded Bart, propelling his face to one side. It took a second for the sting and the pain to kick in, but once it did Bart squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on the sodden gag in his mouth.

Luke leaned in close, his face twisting with ugly rage that burned shockingly bright. "Don't fucking deny it. Anthony has declared war against us, now! He's ordered drive-by's– we're dropping like flies!" he shouted, shoving Bart harshly in the chest so his head thumped against the wall behind him. "_You_ fucking did that! Now, even if we do come up with enough money to pay him, he won't stop. It's a 'matter of pride' or some shit. He's just gonna take us all out."

A rival gang or something wanted to wipe Luke and Mark off the map? Good. About time. Bart couldn't help but feel pleased that it was because of him that was happening. Even if he was going to die because of it, too. At least he was of no use to them sold off to the highest bidder any longer. That prospect had been terrifying. A quick death seemed much more merciful.

Luke's blazing anger subsided like a rolling wave, gone as quickly as it had come. He eased out of his crouch and sat down on the floor properly. He sighed and rolled one of his shoulders. "So you're probably wondering why you're here, then, if we're not gonna sell you. Why we were still searching for you."

_Kind of, yeah_.

"Well just because you can't fix the situation no more don't mean we forgive you. In fact, we're all quite pissed. Very, very fucking pissed." Luke reached behind himself and pulled out a pocket knife. Bart's heart leaped into his throat at the sight. Luke let the shiny metal dangle between his knees and smiled at Bart. "So we're gonna go out swinging. You like the sound of that, Bart? Wanna have some fun? Yes? Awesome."


End file.
